^■rJKfesags 


*>»*>>> 


t«  *^iw>w>«i<  imi»i<»  Wfrgg 


HENRY  ArIII. 


MEMOIRS 


OF 

HENRY  THE  EIGHTH 

©f  ©nglanii, 

WITH  THE  FORTUNES,  FATES,  AND  CHARACTERS 

OK 

H IIS  SIX  W  IYES, 


BY 

HENRY  WILLIAM  HERBERT, 

Author  of  “  The  Captains  of  the  Greek  ami  Roman  Republics,” 
“  The  Roman  Traitor,”  “  Oliver  Cromwell,”  etc.,  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PORTER  &  COATES. 


COPYRIGHT, 

Porter  &  Coatee 

1880. 


H53) 


TO 

WIHLMAffi  SBJMNDKTg  Es©., 

EDITOR  OF 

f  II E  NATIONAL  INTELLIGENCER,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C., 

Ufs  Volume  of  tjje 

MEMOIRS  OF  KING  HENRY  THE  EIGHTH, 

WITH  THE 

jlfortuneg,  dJateg  anb  ©fjaracterg  of  Jblr  SSibeg, 

IS  RESPECTFULLY  AND  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED, 

IN  TOKEN  OF 

HIE  SINCERE  VENERATION  HE  ENTERTAINS  FOR  HIS  TALENTS  AND  CHARACTER. 
AND  OF  THE  HIGH  VALUE  IIE  SETS  ON  HIS  FRIENDSHIP, 

BY  HIS  SINCERE  AND  OBLIGED 

FRIEND  AND  SERVANT, 

HENRY  WILLIAM  HERBERT 


The  Cedars,  July  19,  1856. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2018  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


https://archive.org/details/memoirsofhenryei01herb 


PREFACE. 


The  Prefatory  remarks  which  I  have  to  offer  as  an 
induction  to  this  volume,  are  few,  and  of  small  im¬ 
portance.  It  appeared  to  me  that  there  has  long  been 
a  void  space  in  the  department  of  history,  which 
could  be  filled  by  a  work,  aspiring  to  a  popular  circu¬ 
lation  by  means  of  its  style  and  manner,  which 
should  descend  from  the  grave  and  somewhat  stilted 
dignity  of  history  proper,  and  attempt  something  of 
the  point  and  sparkle  of  fictitious  narrative,  while 
closely  and  rigidly  adhering  to  the  solid  and  mate¬ 
rial  truth,  which  can  alone  give  value  to  historical 
compositions. 

To  ascertain  the  exact  truth  on  all  disputed  points, 
I  may  say  that  I  have  spared  no  pains  ;  and,  I  may 
add,  that  I  have  aimed  at  the  strictest  impartiality. 

#  The  contemporaneous  chroniclers  and  writers  of  the 
period,  not  of  England  only,  but  of  Spain,  Italy  and 
France,  I  have  carefully  consulted. 

The  curious  and  valuable  work  of  my  quaint  an¬ 
cestor  of  Cherbury,  has  furnished  me  accurately  with 
dates,  with  details  of  military  events  and  treaties, 
and  with  some  curious  particulars  of  the  costume  and 
domestic  manners  of  the  day. 

The  Romish  historian,  Lingard,  has  been  consulted 
and  weighed  as  carefully,  and  received  as  full  atten- 


VI 


PREFACE. 


tion,  as  the  writers  of  our  own  church,  and  with 
profit  and  advantage,  his  work  being,  for  the  most 
part,  as  written  by  an  avowed  advocate  of  Papacy, 
honest  and  candid  ;  and  its  investigations  being  con¬ 
ducted  with  justice  and  temperance. 

To  the  lighter  and  more  gossipping  sketches  of  the 
lady-biographers  of  the  queens  of  England,  France 
and  Scotland,  I  have  also  had  occasion  to  refer,  prin¬ 
cipally  in  relation  to  the  personal  qualities  and  cos¬ 
tumes  of  the  royal  ladies. 

In  a  word,  I  have  neglected  no  means  of  arriving 
at  facts  which  were  within  my  reach,  and  I  have  used 
'the  authorities  which  I  have  consulted,  with  no  other 
purpose  or  desire  than  that  of  ascertaining  and  re¬ 
cording  “  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,”  concerning  each  and  every  one  of  the  dis¬ 
tinguished  personages  who  have  afforded  a  topic  to 
my  pen. 

Some  new  facts,  I  believe,  I  have  been  so  happy 
as  to  disinter  from  the  dust  of  time  and  misrepresen¬ 
tation  concerning  those  two ,  most  unfortunate  and  fa¬ 
tal,  Anpe  Boleyn  and  Kafharinfi_jlqward  ;  and,  on 
the  wholeTTtrust  that  I  have  executed  the  work  in 
such  a  tone  and  spirit  as  shall  excuse  what  faults  it 
may  possess,  and  render  it  not  unacceptable  either  to 
the  learned  or  unlearned  of  America. 

Henry  William  Herbert. 


The  Cedars,  July  20,  1855. 


CONTENTS 


IIENRY  THE  EIGHTH. 

RETROSPECTIVE. 

Wai  of  the  Roses — General  Effects — War  to  the  Castle — Gen¬ 
eral  Wish  for  Repose — The  Rival  Factions — Failure  of  Title 
in  HenryVII. — Sons  of  Edward  III. — First  Rupture  of  the 
Houses — Failure  of  the  Claim  of  Lancaster — True  Title  of 
Edward  IV. — 'Jsuipation  of  Gloucester — Lambert  Simnel 
and  Perkin  Warbeck — Henry  ot  Richmond  not  Heir  of  Lan¬ 
caster — The  House  of  Tudor — Peath  of  Richard  III. — Hen¬ 
ry’s  Alleged  Titles — Henry  King  by  Possession — Cruel  Acta 
of  Attainder — Great  Opportunities  of  Henry  VII. — His  Con¬ 
duct  and  its  Effects — His  Parliaments — His  Character, 


CHAPTER  L 


Death  of  Henry  VII. — Accession  of  Henry  VIII. — His  Quali¬ 
ties  and  Occasions — Inconsistency  of  his  Career — Gradual 
Deterioration — Liscovery  of  America — Reformation,  and  Ex¬ 
tinction  of  Chivalry — Growing  Power  of  the  Masses — Wars 
of  the  Plantagenets — Want  of  Policy — Redress  of  Grievances 
— Empson  and  Dudley — Marriage  of  Arthur  and  Katha/ine 
— Transactions  for  Marriage — Henry  VII.  and  Joanna  of  Cas- 
tille — Henry’s  Marriage  with  Katharine  of  Arragon — Kath¬ 
arine  Intercedes — Henry’s  Vanity  and  Love  of  Fame — State 
of  Europe — The  French  in  Italy — The  English  Fleet — Fail¬ 
ure  of  the  Campaign  of  1612 — Conflagration  of  the  Regent 
— Rise  of  Wolsey — The  Battle  of  Ravenna — Prosecution  of 
the  War,  1613 — Death  of  the  Lord  Admiral — Execution  of 


33 


CONTENTS.- 


I'ittK 


Vlll 


the  Earl  of  Suffolk — Invasion  of  France — Siege  of  Te  roue  ime 
— Henry  Defies  James  of  Scotland — Battle  of  the  Spurs— 
Surrender  of  Terouenne — Investment  of  Tournay — Tidines 
of  Flodden  Field — The  Battle  of  Floddeu  Field — The  Crisis 
of  the  Day — The  Carnage  at  Flodden — Capitulation  of  Tour- 
nay — Policy  of  Wolsey — Festivities  at  Tournay  and  Lisle — 
Negotiations  at  Tournay — Disruption  of  the  League — Wed¬ 
ding  of  Louis  XII.  and  Mary — Foreign  Nationality  of  Queens 
Consort — Distaste  to  Foreign  Queens — Houses  of  Bourbon 
and  Brunswick — The  Justs  at  Paris— The  Duke  of  Suffolk— 
The  Death  of  King  Louis—' The  Youthful  Widow — Mistress 
Anne  Boleyn — Thomas  Wolsey,  Archbishop — Character  of 
Wolsey — Foreign  Policy  of  Wolsey — Battle  of  Marignano 
— Restitution  of  Tournay — General  Pacification, 


CHAPTER  II. 


Second  Phase  of  Henry’s  Character — Henry’s  Mistresses— 
Death  of  Maximilian — Candidates  for  Empire — Conference 
of  Kings — Idle  Profusion — Mary  the  Beautiful — Henry’s 
House  at  Guisnes — The  Field  of  Cloth  of  Gold — The  Tour¬ 
naments — Intercourse  of  the  Kings — The  Emperor  at  Calais 
— Queen  Claude’s  Maids  of  Honor — Henry  a  Theologian — 
De  Septem  Sacramentis — Defender  of  the  Faith — An  Angli¬ 
can  Church — Wolsey  and  the  Duke — The  Duke  of  Bucking¬ 
ham — The  Prophecies  of  Hopkins — Trial  and  Death  of  Buck¬ 
ingham — Henry’s  Succession — State  Reasons — Outbreaking 
of  War — Conferences  of  Arbitration — Sentence  rendered  by 
Wolsey — War  in  the  Milanese — Invention  of  the  Musket — 
Election  of  the  Pope — Pope  Adrian — Ireland  and  Scotland 
— The  House  of  Commons — The  Scottish  War — Wark  Castle 
— The  Servants  of  the  House  of  Tudor — Polemics  in  His¬ 
tory — Winter  Campaign  in  Italy — Bourbon  Invades  France 
— Standing  Armies — Forced  Marches  upon  Milan — Mutual 
Distrust — The  Battle  of  Pavia — Francis  a  Prisoner — A  Cap- 
tivf  Kina- — Lukewarmness  of  Charles — Royal  Suspicions — 


CONTENTS. 


IX 

iisa 


Dissolution  of  the  Contract — Bad  Faith  of  both  Kings _ 

Marriage  of  Charles  and  the  Infanta — Liberation  of  Francis 
— Clement  YII.  a  Prisoner— The  Maskers  at  Greenwich — The 
King’s  “Secret  Matter” — First  Love  for  Anne  Boleyn — Wol- 
sey’s  Secret  Policy — March  of  Lautrech — Escape  of  Pope 
Clement — Siege  of  Naples — Henry’s  Latent  Character — De¬ 
lays  in  the  Divorce — Grounds  for  the  Divorce — Fall  of  Wol- 
sey — M  olsey’s  Arrest  at  Cawood — Wolsey’s  Foreign  Corres¬ 
pondence-Death  of  Wolsey — Breve  by  Pope  Clement — 
Statute  of  Praemunire — Supreme  Head  of  the  Church — Pay 
ment  of  Annates  Forbidden — Second  Meeting  of  Kings — 
Anne  Henry’s  Mistress — His  Marriage  to  Anne — Cranmer’e 
Elevation — Theologians  and  Canonists — Divorce  Pronounced 
— Third  Division  of  his  Life,  ....  . 

CHAPTER  III. 

^  Third  Phase  of  Character — The  Wonder  of  Submission— Strange 
Spirit  of  the  Times — Silence  in  Death — Marriage  with  Anne 
Legalized — Resistance  of  the  Queen — Double  Dealings  with 
Clement  and  Francis — England  Emancipated  from  Rome — 
The  two  Acts  of  Parliament — Perfect  Success  of  Henry’s 
Schemes — Absolutism  in  England — His  lunate  Cruelty — 
The  Holy  Maid  of  Kent — ;Fisher  and  More — The  Persecutions 
— Death  of  Fisher  and  More — Interdict  of  Paul  III. — Sup¬ 
pression  of  Monasteries — Death  of  Queen  Katharine — Attain¬ 
der  of  Anne  Boleyn — Decapitation  of  Anne — Marriage  with 
Jane  Seymour — Insurrection  of  the  North — Reginald  Pole — 
Birth  of  Prince  Edward — Death  of  Queen  Jane — Lady 
Shew  at  Calais — Amusements  of  Widowhood — Thomas  a 
Becket  in  Court — The  Family  of  Reginald  Pole — Anne  of 
Cleves — Cromwell  Attainted — Religious  Terrorism — Katha¬ 
rine  Howard — The  Countess  of  Salisbury — Charges  against 
Katharine — Evidences  against  her — Katharine’s  Attainder — 
Katharine’s  Death — Ex  post  facto  Enactment — The  King’s 
Book — Peace  with  Charles  V. — Katharine  Parr  of  Kendal- 

A* 


10fi 


CONTENTS. 


FASK 


X 


The  Children  of  Henry — Protestant  Ascendency — Balance 
of  Religions — Private  Life  of  Royalty — French  Campaign — 
Henry’s  Succession — Henry’s  last  Peace — Strife  of  Religious 
Parties — Henry’s  last  Crimes — The  Ends  of  Providence,  .  196 


KATHARINE  OF  ARRAGON. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Birth  of  Katharine — England  and  Spain — Period  of  her  Birth 
— Columbus  in  the  Camp — Schemes  of  Colu  nbus — Progress 
of  Discovery — False  Style  of  Memoir  Writing — Impressions 
of  her  Childhood — Unprecedented  Growth  of  Spain — The 
Netherlands  added  to  Spain — Prince  Arthur  of  Wales — Kath¬ 
arine  Lands  in  England— Spanish  Etiquette — English  Blunt¬ 
ness — Katharine’s  First  Marriage — Iler  Married  Life  at  Lud¬ 
low — Silence  of  History  in  time  of  Peace — Katharine  Dowa¬ 
ger  of  Wales — The  Bull  and  Breve  of  Dispensation — Gen¬ 
eral  Faith  in  the  Virtue  of  Dispensations — Did  she  Love  liimf 
— Her  Marriage  with  Henry — Her  Coronation — War  with 
France — Katharine  Queen  Regent — Anne  Boleyn — Visit  of 
Charles  V. — The  Field  of  Cloth  of  Gold — Renewed  Peace 
with  France — Conduct  of  Katharine — Conduct  of  Anne 
Boleyn — The  Cardiual  Legate — The  Legantine  Court — Cam- 
peggio — Expulsion  from  Windsor — Supreme  Head  of  the 
Church — Anne  Boleyn’s  Marriage — Anne’s  Unehastit}' — 
Katharine  in  Seclusion — Cranmer’s  Decree — Katharine’s 
Constancy — Katharine’s  Testament — Katharine’s  Death,  .  26S 


ANNE  BOLEYN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Historical  Partisanship — Partial  and  Impartial  Judgment — 
Family  of  Anne  Boleyn—  Anne’s  Birth  Place — Date  of  Anne’* 


CONTENTS. 


XI 

p^om 


Birth — Anne’s  First  Prospects  Matrimonial— Anne’s  First  Love 
— Anne  Dismissed  the  Court — First  Advances  of  the  King — 
Anne’s  Person  and  Beaut}’ — Her  Grace  and  Accomplishments 
— Small  Progress  of  the  King — Anne  not  a  Lutheran — Wy¬ 
att’s  Suit — The  Game  of  Bowls — The  Sweating  Sickness — 

Fall  of  Wolsey — Lady  Rochefort — The  Sibylline  Book — Anne’s 
Marriage — Death  of  More  and  Fisher — The  Cruelty  of  Cow¬ 
ardice — Retribution — Anne’s  Forebodings — Committee  of  the 
Privy  Council — Confession  in  Extremis — The  First  Charges — 

In  the  Tower — Anne’s  Admissions — Anne’s  Trial — Nullity  of 
Anne’s  Marriage — Death  and  Burial  of  Anne  Boleyn,  .  .  331 


JANE  SEYMOUR. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Blood  of  the  Seymours — Birth  and  Youth  of  Jane — Jane’s 
Levity — The  Causes  of  her  Good  Report — Jane’s  Unchastity — 
Jane’s  Wedding — The  Wedding  Day — Parliamentary  Flatter¬ 
ies — Her  Bootless  Reign — Birth  of  Prince  Edward — Christen¬ 
ing  of  Edward — Jane  Seymour’s  Death — The  Monuments  of 
Queens . 360 


ANNE  OF  CLEVES. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Henry  a  Widower — The  French  Ladies — Polemical  Parties — 

The  Smalcaldic  League — Person  of  Anne  of  Cleves — She 
Lands  in  England — First  Interview  with  Henry — His  Dislike 
to  her — Vengeance  on  Cromwell — Cromwell  and  Barnes — 
Divorce  of  Anne — The  Daughter  of  Cleves — Her  Tranquil 
Life — Her  Death  and  Monument, . 391 


xn 


CONTENTS. 


PAW 


KATHARINE  HOWARD. 

CHAPTER  YIII. 

The  Birth  of  Katharine — The  Childhood  of  Katharine — Manox 
the  Musician — Francis  Dereham — Discovery  and  Flight — 
Her  Changed  Demeanor — She  Pleases  the  King — HerMarried 
Life — Her  First  Peril— Cranmer  Plots  her  Ruin — She  Confesses 
— Her  Death — Public  Opinion . 


KATHARINE  PARR. 

CHAPTER  IX. 


413 


Her  First  Husbands — Her  Connection  -with  the  Court — Her 
Marrjage — Her  Danger — Henry’s  Death — Her  Fourth  Mar¬ 
riage  and  Death,  .  . .  ...  485 


!  f 

MEMOIR  OF  THE  LIFE, 

POLITICAL,  PRIVATE,  AND  DOMESTIC, 

OF 

KING  HENRY  VIII. 


TWENTIETH  NORMAN  KING  OF  ENGLAND;  SECOND  OK  THE  HOUSE  OF  TUDOR. 
•  BORN,  JUNK  28,  1491.  CAME  TO  THE  CROWN,  APRIL  22,  1509.  DIED,  JANUARY 
28,  1547.  AGE,  55  years,  T  mo.  reion,  87  years,  9  mo.,  <S  days. 

i 


Cetermn,  poractis  tristitiie  imitamentis,  curiam  ingressus,  et  de  auctorltate  pa 
(ruin.  et  consensu  militum  profatus,  consllia  sibl  et  exempla  capessendl  egregle  Im¬ 
perii  memoravtt;  nec  Juventam  armis  civilibus  aut  domesticls  discordiis  imbutam, 
nulla  odia,  nullas  injurias,  Dec  cupidinem  ultionis  adferre. 

Tacitus,  Annales,  Lib.  xiii.  cap.  4. 

Nemo  repente  fuit  turplssimus.  Juvenal,  Saiira,  1L  88. 

How  oft  the  sight  of  means,  to  do  ill  deeds, 

Makes  deeds  ill  done.  Buakspearb,  K.  John,  Act  lr.,  Sc.  2. 


RETROSPECTIVE. 

Before  entering  directly  into  any  consideration  of  the  ex¬ 
traordinary  career,  and  no  less  extraordinary  character  of  this 
monarch,  it  will  be  necessary  to  take  a  brief  retrospect  of  the 
affairs  of  England,  at  the  period  of  his  father’s  usurpation  of 
the  crown,  and  the  consequent  establishment  of  the  Cambrian 
house  of  Tudor,  on  the  British  throne ;  and  to  give  some 
passing  attention  to  the  administration  of  the  country,  during 
the  long  reign  of  that  able,  but  unprincipled,  avaricious,  and 
cold-hearted  nibnarch. 


Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  p.  4 


\4  GENERAL  EFFECT  OF  THE  WAR  OF  THE  ROSES. 

To  almost  every  reader,  it  is,  of  course,  farrv'Jiarly  known, 
that,  for  nearly  a  century,  including  the  whole  period  from  the 
first  dissensions  of  Richard  II.,  the  imbecile  son  of  the  famous 
Black  Prince,  with  the  able  and  ambitious  Henry  of  Boling- 
broke,  duke  of  Lancaster,  in  1398,  to  the  accession  of  Henry, 
earl  of  Richmond,  in  1485,  with  the  exception  of  the  brief  but 
glorious  reign  of  Henry  V,,  England  was  held  in  a  constant 
turmoil  of  intestine  divisions,  civil  wars,  and  bloody  and  barba¬ 
rous  battles,  between  the  rival  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
under  their  respective  cognizances  of  the  White  and  Red 
Roses. 

These  cruel  and  disastrous  wars,  during  which  such  was  the 
desperate  animosity  of  the  partisans  of  the  two  factions  that 
quarter  was  rarely  either  asked  or  given,  especially  among  the 
nobles,  even  to  princes  of  the  blood-royal,  had  drained  England 
of  its  purest  and  most  ancient  blood.  Nor  did  the  savage 
slaughters  cease  with  the  heat  and  fury  of  the  strife ;  the  scaf¬ 
fold  resounded  with  the  almost  incessant  din  of  the  headsman’s 
ax  ;  and  the  assassin’s  knife  cut  off,  in  the  secrecy  of  the  prison- 
house,  many  a  victim  whom  policy  forbade  to  lead  to  open 
execution,  hi  the  short  space  of  thirty  years,  in  the  two  reigus 
of  Henry  VI.  and  his  successor,  the  fourth  Edward,  no  less 
than  twelve  pitched*  battles  were  fought  on  English  soil ;  no 
less  than  eighty  princes  of  the  blood  had  perished  ;  and,  so 
nearly  was  the  ancient  aristocracy  reduced  to  absolute  annihi¬ 
lation,  that  an  ingenious,  though  somewhat  exaggerated,  writer  f 
of  the  present  day  avows  that,  after  the  second  battle  of  Bar- 
net,  a  Norman  baron  of  the  pure  blood  was  a  rarer  animal 
than  a  wolf,  on  Euglish  soil ;  and  there  is  ao  doubt,  though  this 


♦Hume,  Hist.  Eng  ii  433. 

tsjir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton,  Last  of  the  Barona 


WAR  TO  THE  CASTLE. 


15 


must  be  regarded  as  a  forced  form  of  speech,  that  destruction 
had  dealt  unsparingly  with  this  class,  and  that  the  great  depres¬ 
sion  of  this  order  tended  much  to  facilitate  the  aggressions  of 
the  next  succeeding  kings,  on  the  liberties  of  the  English  na¬ 
tion.  For,  in  all  ages  of  English  history,  it  is  remarkable 
that  all  successful  resistance  to  monarchical  encroachments,  and 
all  considerable  extensibns  of  popular  privileges,  have  been 
maintained  by,  or  have  originated  with  the  nobles,  and  not  with 
the  people. 

It  is  true,  that  these  pttiless  and  sanguinary  wars  had  one 
redeeming  feature,  that  they  were  essentially  wars  against  the 
castle,  not  against  the  cottage  ;  and  that,  so  soon  as  the  obsti¬ 
nate  conflict  was  at  an  end,  and  the  after-carnage  done,  no  ven¬ 
geance  hunted  the  retainer  to  his  grange,  or  the  peasant  to  his 
cot ;  though  it  might  pursue  the  baron  to  his  last  hiding-place 
and  even  tear  him  from  sanctuary, to  the  block,  and  that,  saving 
the  slaughter  of  the  actual  battle  and  of  the  immediate  pursuit, 
little  scathe  befel  the  commonalty  of  the  nation. 

A  shrewd  and  experienced  contemporaneous  statesman,*  the 
minister  of  Charles  the  Bold,  of  Burgundy,  a  man  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  condition  of  the  principal  states  of  conti nen- 
tal  Europe,  France,  Switzerland,  and  the  Flemish  and  Holland- 
ish  Netherlands,  having  visited  England,  about  this  period,  and, 
that,  too,  before  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  to  heal  the  wounds 
of  civil  war,  has  deliberately  put  it  on  record,  that,  of  all  the 
countries  of  which  he  had  any  knowledge,  England  was  the  best 
governed,  with  the  greatest  security  to  person  and  property ;  and 
that  it  was  inconceivable  to  him,  how  a  war,  which  by  its  char¬ 
acter  of  atrocious  desperation,  had  attracted  the  eyes  of  all  Eu- 


*  PblHp  de  Comb  is,  ambassador  from  Charles  the  Bold  of  Burgundy  to  Edward  IV 


16 


GENERAL  WISH  FOR  REPOSE. 


rope,  should  have  rolled  over  the  land,  like  a  passing  thunder 
storm,  leaving  so  few  traces  of  havoc  and  ruin.  He  saw,  he 
says,  no  devastated  fields,  no  villages  given  up  to  conflagration 
no  towns  destroyed  by  the  ravages  of  a  licentious  soldiery  ; 
but  a  country  flourishing  with  a  rich  and  thrifty  agriculture, 
hamlets  full  of  an  industrious  and  happy  population,  towns 
teeming  with  the  wealth  of  manufactures,  and  marts  of  com¬ 
merce,  white  with  the  sails,  and  crowded  with  the  keels,  of 
countless  argosies. 

And  a  late  brilliant  and  picturesque  historian*  of  England 
has  well  stated,  that,  during  all  the  fiercest  phases  of  the  war 
of  the  Roses,  within  a  week  of  the  battles  of  Bramham-moor, 
or  Towton,  or  Bosworth-field,  the  esquire  was  flying  his  hawks 
over  the  ground,  or  the  plowman  furrowing  the  lea,  as  if  no¬ 
thing  extraordinary  had  occurred  in  the  neighborhood. 

Still,  notwithstanding  this,rnerciful  exemption  from  the  chief 
horrors  of  civil  war,  which  the  middle  classes  and  peasantry 
of  England  appear  to  have  enjoyed  during  this  period,  so  dis¬ 
astrous  to  the  nobles,  the  country  was  becoming  aweary  of  the 
endless  agitation  of  claims,  in  which  they  had  little  direct  in¬ 
terest  ;  of  the  interminable  conflicts  of  armed  bands,  in  all 
quarters  of  the  realm ;  of  the  lavish  outpouring  of  blood  — 
always  a  thing  uncongenial  to  the  spirit  of  the  English 
people — and,  above  all,  of  the  insecurity  to  property  and 
life,  which  is  inseparable,  in  greater  or  less  degree,  from  the 
state  of  war  ;  and  the  interruption  to  agricultural  and  commer¬ 
cial  pi'Ogress,  which  must  follow  civil  dissensions,  even  in  their 
most  mitigated  form. 

The  wars  of  the  Roses  were  especially  wars  of  faction.  No 
public  principle,  no  popular  interest  was  at  stake.  There  was 


*  Macaulay,  Hist  of  England. 


THE  RIVAL  FACTIONS. 


17 


no  issue  between  king  and  nobles,  king  and  commons,  or  no¬ 
bility  and  people.  No  question  of  prerogative,  privilege,  or 
liberty.  The  matter  was  resolved,  at  once,  into  a  contest  for 
precedence  between  the  two  branches,  York  and  Lancaster,  of 
the  great  royal  house  of  Plantagenet,  and  their  kinsmen,  ad 
herents  and  fautors,  which  should  inherit  the  crown  of  Ed 
ward  III.,  since  whose  time  the  title  had  been,  more  or  less,  in 
dispute. 

Each  of  these  great  branches,  almost  in  itself  a  house,  had 
such  power,  in  land,  in  intimate  connection  with  the  great  ba¬ 
rons  of  the  realm,  many  of  them  scarcely  second,  in  wealth, 
influence,  and  the  ability  to  raise  armies,  to  the  crown  itself, 
and  almost  all  of  them  connected  by  blood  with  one  or  other 
of  the  claimants,  that,  in  the  first  instance,  they  enlisted  be¬ 
tween  them,  in  support  of  their  hostile  claims,  nearly  the  whole 
of  the  feudal  aristocracy,  and,  through  them,  nearly  the  v'hole 
of  the  rural  population,  also,  of  the  kingdom.  For  many 
years,  the  interested  passions  of  the  rival  nobles;  the  deadly 
and  vindictive  feuds  arising  from  the  merciless  slaughter,  on 
the  field  or  scaffold,  of  these  aristocratical  partisans ;  and  their 
great  influence  over  their  vassals  and  tenantry,  which  classes 
included  almost  the  whole  agricultural  populace,  kept  the  war 
alive,  and  sustained  it  with  unabated  vigor;  until,  when,  in 
1485,  the  Lancastrian  pretender,  Henry,  earl  of  Richmond, 
long  an  exile  in  Brittany,  having  defeated  and  slain  Richard 
III..  at  Bosworth-field,  in  Leicestershire,  the  house  of  York 
was  silenced,  at  least,  if  not  utterly  subdued,  by  the  absence 
of  any  male  heir,  who  should  support  its  claims  to  the  throne. 
By  this  time,  the  nobles,  utterly  enfeebled  by  their  long  and 
vast  exertions,  decimated  by  war  and  execut'ons,  and  impov¬ 
erished  by  confiscations — and  the  agricultural  class,  weary 
2 


18 


'■AIl.rRE  OF  TITLE  IN  HENRY  VII. 


of  fruitless  slaughter  in  a  cause  which  had  no  possible  interest 
for  them — were  both  unable  and  indisposed  to  protract  this 
internecine  strife  to  utterance ;  and,  at  this  crisis,  the  traders 
of  the  towns,  the  “burgesses”  and  “commonalty,”  recently 
erected  into  “  corporations,”*  who  are  always  the  class  most 
averse  to  war,  as  desiring  quiet  and  security,  above  all  things, 
by  means  of  which  to  acquire,  enjoy,  and  transmit  commercial 
wealth ;  and  who  had  never  cared  much  for  the  questions  at 
issue  in  this  protracted  and  bootless  struggle,  now  came  for 
ward,  and,  by  their  weight,  carried  the  decision  in  favor  of  rest, 
trauquillity,  and  peace,  at  all  risk  of  consequences.  And  this 
is  generally  found  to  be  the  necessary  conclusion  of  all  ques¬ 
tions,  even  where  vital  interests,  great  principles,  and  the  true 
liberties  of  the  people  are  involved  ;  if,  being  once  fairly  left  to 
the  arbitrament  of  the  sword,  they  cannot  be  resolved  by  a 
speedy  and  decisive  victory,  final  on  one  side  or  other,  but  de¬ 
generate  into  a  long  and  exhausting  struggle,  in  the  course  of 
which,  probably,  the  first  causes  are  forgotten.  Much  more, 
where  nothing  is  at  stake  but  a  barren  claim  of  succession, 
about  which,  in  truth,  the  people  have  little  reason  to  feel 
concern. 

Thus,  on  the  defeat  and  death  of  Richard,  no  opposition  of 
any  kind  was  made  to  the  accession,  to  the  throne  of  the  Plan- 
tagenets,  of  Henry,  earl  of  Richmond,  though  he  had  no  real 
claim  to  be  considered  the  heir  to  the  house  of  Lancaster ; 
which,  in  its  turn,  had  no  real  claim  to  the  throne  of  England, 
by  the  laws  of  primogeniture,  or  legitimate  hereditary  descent. 
To  many  persons,  doubtless,  this  will  appear  strange ;  for  so 
large  a  majority  of  English  and  American  general  readers  de¬ 
rive  their  most  firmly  fixed  and  clearest  ideas,  in  regard  to 

*  By  tti a  ISth  of  Henry  VI.  De  Lelme,  B.  14#. 


SONS  OF  EDWARD  TTI. 


19 


English  history  from  the  historical  plays  of  Shakspere — who 
writing  in  the  reign  and  under  the  special  patronage  of  Eliza- 
beth,  herself  a  Tudor,  and  grand  daughter  of  this  very  usurper, 
Henry  VII.,  distorted  all  facts,  and  carried  all  sympathies  to 
the  side  of  the  house  of  Lancaster — that  it  is  usually  regarded 
as  the  true  line ;  and  that  of  York,  as  a  family  of  intrusive, 
lawless,  and  bloodthirsty  usurpers. 

The  case,  however,  is  brief,  easy,  and  conclusive ;  where¬ 
fore,  without  farther  demur,  I  shall  submit  it  at  once,  to  my 
readers,  as  curious  in  itself,  and  as  having  important  bearing 
on  after  issues  of  history. 

On  the  murder,  by  Piers  Exton,  in  Pontefract  castle,  of  the 
weak  and  hapless  Richard  II.,  sole  heir  of  Edward,  the  Black 
Prince,  eldest  son  of  Edward  III.,  the  crown  of  course  de¬ 
scended  to  the  issue  of  the  collateral  branches,  being  the  broth¬ 
ers  of  the  Black  Prince,  and  sons  of  Edward  III.,  in  regular  line 
of  descent. 

The  eldest  of  these  princes,  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence,  third 
son  of  Edward,  had  left,  by  his  wife  Elizabeth  de  Burgh, 
one  daughter,  Philippa  ;  who  married  Edmund  Mortimer,  earl 
of  March,  in  1381,  and  bore  him  Roger,  earl  of  March.  This 
Roger  married  Eleonora  of  Kent,  and  left  one  daughter,  Anne, 
countess  of  March. 

The  second  prince,  John  of  Ghent,  fourth  son  of  Edward 
— William  of  Hatfield,  the  second  son,  having  died  an  infant — 
married,  as  his  first  wife,  Blanch,  daughter  of  Henry,  duke 
of  Lancaster,  and  in  her  right  succeeded  to  that  title.  By 
Blanch,  he  had  Henry  of  Bolingbroke,  carl  of  Derby  and 
duke  of  Hereford.  John  of  Ghent  subsequently  married 
Blanch,  or,  as  she  is  sometimes  called,  Constance,  of  Castille ; 
and,  thirdly,  Katharine  of  Swineford,  by  whom  he  had  ante 


20 


FIRST  RUPTURE  OF  TIIK  HOUSE8. 


connubial  issue,  John,  earl  of  Somerset,  Henry,  cardinal  Beau, 
fort,  Thomas,  duke  of  Exeter,  and  Joan,  who  married  Ralph 
Nevil,  and  was  grandmother  to  Richard,  earl  of  Warwick,  the 
king  maker. 

The  third,  surviving  prince,  Edmund  of  Langley,  duke  of 
York,  fifth  son  of  Edward,  married  Isabel  of  Castille,  and  had 
by  her,  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge,  who  married  his  cousin 
Anne,  countess  of  March,  heiress  to  Lionel  of  Clarence, 
third  son  of  Edward.  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge,  had,  by 
Anne  March,  Richard,  duke  of  York,  who,  by  Cicely,  daugh¬ 
ter  of  Rudolph,  earl  of  Westmoreland,  had  Henry,  who  died 
young  ;  Edward,  afterward  King  Edward  IV. ;  George,  duke 
of  Clarence ;  Richard  of  Gloucester,  afterward  King  Richard 
III. ;  and  Elizabeth. 

At  the  murder  of  Richard  II.,  therefore,  Richard,  duke  of 
York,  as  heir,  through  his  mother,  Anne  of  March,  to  Lionel, 
third  sou  of  Edward  III.,  was  the  right  and  legitimate  suc¬ 
cessor  to  the  throne,  in  preference  to  Henry  of  Bolingbroke, 
who  was  only  heir  to  the  fourth  son. 

This  was  the  first  division  of  the  kindred  houses,  and  the 
first  usurpation  of  the  crown  by  the  younger  line  of  Lancaster. 
For,  Henry  of  Bolingbroke,  duke  of  Lancaster,  having  invaded 
England  in  arms,  being  in  exile,  overturned  the  government,  im 
prisoned  the  reigning  monarch,  and  procured  himself  to  be  de¬ 
clared  king,  by  the  lords  and  commons  assembled  in  parlia¬ 
ment,  under  the  name  of  Richard  II.,  then  a  prisoner  of  state, 
and  shortly  afterward  assassinated  at  Pontefract. 

The  claim  of  Henry  IV.,  for  under  this  title  he  reigned  ably, 
but  illegally  and  tyrannically,  during  fourteen  years,  was  con¬ 
stantly  disputed,  and  his  reign  disturbed  by  frequent  rebellions 
and  armed  risings,  the  most  formidable  of  which  was  the  union 


FAILURE  OF  TIIE  CLAIM  OF  LANCASTER. 


2 


of  Hemy  Hotspur  of  Percy,  the  earl  of  Douglas,  and  Owen 
Glendowcr,  of  Wales,  terminated  in  favor  of  Henry,  by  the 
bloody  battle  of  Shrewsbury  ;  but  he  maintained  his  title,  and 
left  it  regularly  to  his  son,  Henry  V.,  by  his  wife,  Mary  of 
Bohun,  daughter  of  the  earl  of  Hereford. 

He,  after  an  able,  brilliant,  and  moderate  reign,  according 
to  the  ideas  of  those  times,  during  which  he  conquered  and 
held  two-thirds  of  France,  left  the  crown  undisputed  to  his  in¬ 
fant  son  by  Katharine,  daughter  of  Charles  VI.  of  France, 
Henry  of  Windsor,  sixth  king  of  England,  of  that  name,  since 
the  conquest. 

His  long  minority,  the  reverses  in  France,  which  succeeded 
to  the  wise  and  energetic  regency  of  Bedford,  and  resulted  in 
the  loss  of  all  the  French  provinces  of  England,  joined  to  his 
imbecility  of  character,  irreparable  even  by  the  dauntless  cour¬ 
age  and  strong  intellect  of  his  man-minded  wife,  Margaret  of 
Anjou,  gave  an  occasion,  to  the  wrongfully  dispossessed  house 
of  York,  to  throw  once  more  for  the  crown ;  and  they  were 
not  slow  to  profit  by  it. 

The  intrusive  house  of  Lancaster  had  now  been  kings  de 
facto ,  for  a  space  of  fifty -six  years,  during  the  last  forty  of 
which  their  claim  had  been  scarcely  disputed ;  and  had  com¬ 
menced  a  dynasty  which  had  already  extended  to  the  third 
prince  regnant,  and  might  have  been  firmly  established,  had  the 
temper  of  Henry  VI.  and  his  rival  been  different,  or  had  they 
changed  positions. 

By  right  of  blood,  the  house  of  Lancaster  had  no  ciaim,  as 
we  have  above  seen,  whatever ;  although  Henry  of  Boling- 
broke,  evidently  aware  of  the  illegality  of  his  title,  as  by  par¬ 
liamentary  election,  attempted  in  his  challenge  to  revive  an  ab¬ 
surd  and  antiquated  story,  to  the  effect  that  Edmund,  earl  of 


22 


TRUE  TITLE  OF  EDWARD  IV. 


Lancaster,  soi .  of  Henry  III.,  was  really  the  elder  brother  ot 
Edward  I.,  and  that,  through  him,  he  was  the  rightful  heir  to 
the  throne.  This  attempt,  however,  was  so  manifestly  futile, 
and  the  story  On  which  it  was  founded  so  obviously  false,  that 
no  stress  has  been  laid  on  it,  and  it  is  scarcely  named  in 
history. 

The  pretended  deposition  of  Richard  II.  and  proclamation  of 
Henry  IV  ,  was  the  work  of  an  assfufablage,  utterly  unworthy  to 
be  styled  a  parliament,  consisting  either  of  open  partisans  ot  Bol- 
ingbroke,  or  of  men  under  intimidation  from  actual  force — which 
was  brought  into  play  against  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  who  alone 
had  intrepidity  to  except  to  their  lawless  proceedings — and  con¬ 
voked  by  no  legal  authority  ;  since,  although  the  name  of  the 
captive  king  was  used  for  form’s  sake,  the  meeting  was  really 
called  by  Henry,  duke  of  Lancaster,  who  had  no  more  power 
to  call  it  than  any  other  peer  of  the  realm  ;  and  this  parlia¬ 
ment,  if  it  should  be  so  called,  sat  but  one  day,  during  which 
period  it  deposed  one  king,  and  placed  another  on  the  throne, 
having  been  convened  solely  for  that  purpose. 

The  rival  faction  of  York,  however,  now  took  up  arms;  and, 
after  much  severe  fighting,  many  atrocious  cruelties,  perpetra¬ 
ted  on  both  sides,  such  as  the  mutilation  of  the  corpse  of  Rich¬ 
ard,  duke  of  York,  the  murder  of  his  son  Rutland,  by  Clifford, 
and  the  wholesale  executions  of  the  leaders  and  nobles  taken 
in  arms  on  either  side,  succeeded  in  establishing  their  chief,  in 
the  person  of  Edward  IV.,  son  of  Richard,  duke  of  York,  and 
grandson  of  Anne  March,  whose  superior  claim  to  the  throne, 
I  have  shown  above,  in  possession  of  the  government. 

This  bold  and  politic  prince,  who  possessed  in  a  high  degree 
the  affections  of  the  Londoners,  and  of  the  burgher  class,  in 
general,  through  the  kingdom,  whose  favor  he  had  conciliated 


USURPATION  OF  GLOUCESTER. 


23 


by  his  concessions,  wise  domestic  regulations,  and  foreign  ne¬ 
gotiations  in  favor  of  trade,  finally  defeated  and  crushed  the 
Lancastrian  party,  at  the  second  battle  of  Barnet,  where  fell 
Warwick,  the  king  maker,  his  brother,  the  earl  of  Montacute, 
and  the  flower  of  the  Norman  aristocracy  ;  which  was  thence¬ 
forth  so  much  reduced,  that  years  elapsed  before  it  could  again 
make  effectual  head  against  the  encroachments,  whether  of  the 
kings  or  the  commons. 

At  his  death,  which  found  him  in  undisputed  possession  of 
his  crown,  he  left  two  sons,  Edward  V.,  unmarried,  and  Rich¬ 
ard,  duke  of  York,  married  to  Anne  of  Norfolk  ;  Elizabeth, 
subsequently  wife  of  Henry  VII.;  and  four  other  daughters, 
Cicely,  Bridget,  Anne,  and  Katharine,  of  whom  no  more  is 
heard  in  history,  though  they  formed  alliances  with  English 
noblemen  of  rank. 

No  sooner  was  Edward  IV.  in  the  grave,  than  his  wrily,  in¬ 
scrutable,  and  wholly  unscrupulous  brother,  Gloucester,  whom 
he  had  himself  appointed  regent,  quarrelled  with  Dorset,  Ri¬ 
vers,  Gray,  Hastings,  and  Stanley,  the  kinsmen,  friends  and  ad¬ 
visers  of  the  queen-dowager,  brought  three  of  them  to  the 
block  without  form  of  law,  made  himself  master  of  the  persons 
of  the  princes,  his  nephews,  whom  he  committed  to  the  tower, 
and  procured  himself  to  be  nominated  protector,  by  the  coun¬ 
cil,  without  awaiting  the  sanction  of  parliament.  After  this, 
impudently  alleging  that  his  own  mother  had  been  false  to  his 
father’s  bed,  that  his  elder  brothers,  Edward  IV.  and  George, 
duke  of  Clarence,  were  illegitimate,  with  their  issue,  and  that 
he  was  himself,  therefore,  the  only  true  heir,  he  seized  the 
crown,  with  no  shadow  of  plea  or  excuse,  no  popular  con 
sent,  no  authority  of  parliament,  no  sanction  of  any  kind  what¬ 


soever. 


24 


LAMBERT  SIMNEL  AND  PERKIN  WARBECK. 


The  absurd  allegations,  which  he  put  forth  to  justify  his  seiz 
ure  of  the  royal  office,  he  never  attempted  to  support  by  any 
proof,  nor  were  they  ever  received  by  the  people  at  large,  or 
by  any  considerable  party  in  the  state.  He  called  no  parlia¬ 
ment  for  five  years ;  nor  did  he  dare,  until  all  his  enemies 
were  either  dead,  in  exile,  or  prostrate  at  his  feet,  to  ask  the 
sanction  of  the  houses,  intimidated,  helpless,  and  in  his  power, 
to  his  usurpation ;  though,  when  asked,  they  had  no  choice  but 
to  concede  it. 

What  passed  in  the  interim,  is  less  evident,  and  is  even  open 
to  some  speculation,  if  not  doubt.  The  opinion  generally  re¬ 
ceived,  is  that  the  young  princes,  Edward  and  Richard,  were 
smothered  in  the  tower,  by  three  ruffians,  Slater,  Forrest,  and 
Dighton,  under  the  orders  of  Tyrrel,  appointed  to  be  consta¬ 
ble  of  the  tower,  in  lieu  of  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury,  for  that 
one  night,  and  for  that  very  purpose.  It  is  added,  that  their 
bodies  were  buried  very  deep,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  under 
a  heap  of  stones ;  and  that,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  the 
bones  of  two  persons,  corresponding  to  the  size  which  might 
be  expected  from  the  reputed  age  of  the  princes,  were  found 
in  that  spot,  and  suitably  interred  by  order  of  the  then 
king. 

On  the  contrary,  it  is  certain  that  Henry  VII.,  after  his 
usurpation  and  marriage  with  Elizabeth,  in  default  of  heirs 
male,  the  inheritrix  of  the  honors  of  the  house  of  York,  hav¬ 
ing  every  possible  inducement  to  establish  the  facts  of  the  de¬ 
cease  of  these  princes,  since  their  existence  would  have  set 
aside  his  claim  to  succeed,  failed,  though  he  caused  urgent 
search  to  be  made  in  that  very  place,  to  discover  any  relics ; 
nor,  arbitrary  and  cold-booded  as  he  was,  and  sanctioned  in  all 
his  aggressions  on  liberty  and  law  by  a  timorous  and  subservi 


HFNRY  OF  RICHMOND  NOT  HEIR  OF  LANCASTER. 


25 


ent  parliament,  did  lie  ever  dare  to  bring  to  trial,  or  punish, 
any  one  of  the  alleged  murderers. 

There  is  also  some  reason  to  suspect,  that, although  the  first 
pretender,  Lambert  Simnel,  was  clearly  an  impostor,  the  second, 
Perkin  Warbeck,  as  he  was  termed,  might  have  been  Richard, 
the  duke  of  York,  escaped,  as  he  averred,  from  the  tower. 

There  are  undoubtedly  circumstances  connected  with  his  re¬ 
cognition  by  many  persons,  who  had  sufficient  means  to  be  ac¬ 
quainted  with  the  appearance  of  Richard,  his  own  mother  among 
the  rest,  which  seem  to  justify  such  a  surmise  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  as  much  to  be  adduced  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  question  ;  and  it  is  more  probable  he  was  a  bastard  of 
Edward  IV. 

The  strongest  reason  for  believing  that  they  were  actually 
dealt  upon,  at  the  time,  if  not  in  the  place  or  manner  stated,  is 
this — that  all  Richard’s  actions  point  to  his  own  conviction  of 
their  death,  or,  at  least,  non  existence.  He,  at  first,  married 
Anne,  the  widow  of  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  son  of  Henry  VI. : 
and,  after  her  death,  not  without  suspicion  of  foul  play,  was  on 
the  point  of  marrying  Elizabeth,  his  own  niece,  and  daughter  of 
his  brother,  Edward  IV.,  from  which  he  was  only  prevented 
by  the  occurrences,  which  led  to  another  usurpation,  less  fla¬ 
grant  and  impudent  only  than  his  own. 

His  object  in  desiring  to  contract  the  latter  incestuous  al¬ 
liance,  was  to  establish  himself  on  the  throne,  by  a  union  with 
the  eldest  surviving  heir  of  Edward  Ill. ;  and  to  make  Elizabeth 
such  an  heiress,  the  princes  must  have  been  by  him  presumed 
dead,  or  otherwise  the  marriage  was  useless  and  absurd,  as 
well  as  odious  and  illegal. 

But  now  came  the  last  usurpation,  which  placed  on  the 

throne  of  England  not  the  house  of  Lancaster,  but  that  of 
B 


26 


THE  HOUSE  OF  TUDOR. 


Tudor  ;  and  which,  with  the  subsequent  marriage  of  the 
usurper,  constituted  his  son,  Henry  VIII..  the  subject  of  my 
present  memoir,  legitimate  and  very  king  of  Enlgand. 

1  have  shown  above,  on  pages  nineteen  and  twenty,  that  the 
house  of  Lancaster  had  no  valid  title  to  the  throne,  as  against 
the  house  of  York,  the  former  being  descended  from  the  fourth, 
the  latter  from  the  second  son  of  King  Edward  III.  I  shall 
now  proceed  to  show'  that  Henry  of  Richmond  had  no  title 
to  be  held  heir,  even  to  the  secondary  house  of  Lancaster. 

A  Iter  the  death  of  Henry  VI.  and  his  son  EH  ward,  prince 
of  Wales,  the  legitimate  issue  of  J <  ha_of  Ghent,  by  Blanch 
o£  Lancaster,  xver,  extinct.  By  Blanch,  or  Constance,  of  Cas- 
tille,  he  had  Katharine,  who  married  King  Henry  III.  ofCastille, 
and  appears  no  farther  in  English  history.  By  Katharine  of 
Swineford,  while  his  mistress,  he  had  illegitimate  issue,  among 
others,  John  Beaufort,  earl  of  Somerset 

It  is  but  right,  here,  to  admit  that  Richard  II.  granted,  with 
the  authority  of  parliament,  a  charter  legitimating  these  bas¬ 
tards  ;  but  it  is  clear  that  this  was,  on  its  face,  an  ex  post  facto 
law ;  and  no  ex  post  facto  law,  legitimating  bastards,  or  bas¬ 
tardizing  legitimate  heirs,  could  stand  for  a  moment,  even  as 
to  the  inheritance  of  private  property,  much  less  in  the  succes¬ 
sion  to  a  crown. 

Yet,  on  this  wretched  assumption,  rests  his  only  shadow  of 
pretense  to  the  crown. 

After  the  death  of  King  Henry  V.,  the  conqueror  of  France, 
nis  wife,  Katharine  of  Valois,  now  the  widowed  mother  of 
Henry  VI.,  married,  in  second  wedlock,  Owen  Tudor,  a  pri¬ 
vate  gentleman  of  Wales.  To  him  she  bore  Edmund  Tudor, 
earl  of  K'hmond,  uterine  brother  to  Henry  VI.,  but  of  no 
earthly  kin  to  the  house  of  Lancaster. 


DEATH  OF  RICHARD  III. 


27 


This  Edmund  Tudor  married  Margaret,  daughter  of  John, 
earl  of  Somerset  and  Kendal,  and  granddaughter  of  the  bas¬ 
tard,  John  Beaufort,  earl  of  Somerset,  son  of  John  of  Ghent 
and  Katharine  of  Svvineford. 

Edmund  Tudor  and  Margaret  Beaufort  had  issue,  in  the  per¬ 
son  of  Henry,  earl  of  Richmond,  afterward  Ilenry  Vll.  of  Er. 
gland,  and  father  of  my  hero. 

His  pedigree  was  in  every  way  vitiated  ;  on  his  father’s 
side  he  was  of  no  kin  to  either  royal  house ;  on  his  mother’s, 
his  descent  was  null  by  the  bar  or  baton  of  bastardy. 

The  true  heiress  to  the  throne  was,  beyond  question,  Eliza¬ 
beth  of  York  ;  and,  failing  herself  and  her  issue,  then  each  one 
in  succession  of  her  sisters,  Cicely7,  Bridget,  Anne,  and  Katha¬ 
rine,  and  their  issue  ;  and  even,  if  the  pedigree  of  Margaret 
Beaufort  had  been  clear  of  stain,  her  son  Henry  could  by  no 
means  have  succeeded,  during  the  lifetime  of  his  mother. 

Notwithstanding  this  defect,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  this 
total  absence  of  right,  in  his  title,  no  sooner  did  Richmond  land  at 
Milford  Haven,  in  his  native  Wales,  than  the  leaders  of  the  old 
Lancastrian  party  flocked  to  his  standard  in  arms.  The  earl 
of  Oxford,  Sir  Gilbert  Talbot,  Sir  Walter  Savage,  and  Jasper 
Tudor,  earl  of  Pembroke,  joined  him  at  once  and  openly.  Sir 
Rice  ap  Thomas  deserted  to  him,  with  Richard’s  new  Welsh 
levies,  and  Lord  Stanley,  who  was  in  command  of  a  large  force, 
nominally  in  arms  for  York,  awaited  only  an  occasion  for  be¬ 
traying  him. 

They  met  at  Bosworth-field,  where,  by  Stanley’s  defection 
at  the  very  crisis  of  the  day,  the  victory7  was  decided  for 
Henry.  Richard  died  fighting  with  courage  worthy  of  a  better 
cause  ;  he  killed  Sir  Henry  Brandon,  Henry’s  standard-bearer, 
unhorsed  Sir  John  Cheney7  with  his  own  hand,  and  was  on  the 


28 


henry’s  alleged  titles. 


point  of  bringing  Richmond  to  the  arbitrament  of  a  personal 
conflict,  when  he  would  probably  have  determined  the  for¬ 
tunes  of  the  day  by  his  rival’s  death.  But,  at  this  moment, 
Stanley’s  men  treacherously  falling  on  his  flank  and  rear,  he 
was  overwhelmed  by  numbers,  and  killed  by  an  unknown 
hand. 

The  victory  of  Richmond  was  disgraced  by  the  dishonora¬ 
ble  treatment  of  Richard’s  corpse,  which  was  paraded,  naked 
and  covered  with  blood,  thrown  carelessly  across  a  pack-horse, 
through  the  streets  of  Leicester ;  and  by  the  barbarous  execu¬ 
tions  of  the  adherents  of  the  house  of  York,  which  can  be  palli 
ated  by  no  principle  of  justice  or  even  of  vengeance ;  since  it 
can  never  be  held  a  crime  in  the  subject  of  any  government, 
de  facto,  to  defend  that  government  by  force  of  arms  against 
a  foreign  invader. 

The  battle  being  won,  Henry  of  Richmond  was  hailed,  it 
would  seem,  “by  a  natural  and  unpremeditated  movement”* 
of  the  soldiers,  with  acclamations  of  “Long  live  King  Henry 
VII.!”  and  Sir  William  Stanley  crowned  him,  on  the  field, f 
with  a  circlet  of  precious  stones,  which  had  been  worn,  as 
was  then  not  unusual,  by  Richard,  on  his  basnet,  and  was  ta¬ 
ken,  as  spolia  opima,  from  his  corpse. 

The  acclamatory  election  by  the  soldiery,  and  the  extern 
pore  coronation  by  a  bloody-handed  captain,  fresh  from  a  base 
treason,  had  been  all  well  enough  for  a  Roman  imperator,  or 
a  wild  champion  of  the  Goths,  but  was  scarcely  valid,  as  a  title 

*  Hume,  Hist  Eng,  iii,  1. 

t  As  at  the  batile  of  Beauge,  in  France,  where  the  Duke  of  Clarence  wore  t  Jew 
Bled  crown  on  his  casque. 

“  When  Swinton  laid  the  lance  in  rest 
Which  tamed,  of  yore,  the  sparkling  crest 
Of  Clarence's  Plantaganet" — Soott. 


29 


henry's  alleged  titles. 

1 

to  the.  crown  of  already  constitutional  England.  Some  other 
plea  had  to  be  sought,  therefore,  for  this  high-handed  usurpa¬ 
tion,  and  although  no  opposition  was  offered  to  the  usurper,  it 
was  long  ere  he  could  discover  one  which  seemed,  even  to 
himself,  satisfactory  or  sufficient. 

There  were,  it  seems,  three  or  four  pleas*  on  which  Henry 
might  have  attempted  to  rest  a  claim.  First,  on  the  actual 
right  of  the  house  of  Lancaster;  but  this  claim,  originating  as 
it  did,  in  Henry  IV.,  who  had  never  clearly  defined  his  pre¬ 
tensions,  while  at  the  same  time,  he  had  avoided  to  rest  his 
title  on  popular  election,  was  not  sufficiently  tenable;  the 
rather  that  Henry  was  not  the  true  heir  of  Lancaster,  the  Som¬ 
erset  line  having  been  totally  ignored  in  all  settlements  of  the 
crown,  even  by  their  own  party,  until  the  failure  of  the  legiti¬ 
mate  succession. 

Secondly,  he  might  have  rested  on  the  recognition  of  the 
house  of  Lancaster  as  the  true  house,  by  several  parliaments  ; 
but  such  acts  of  recognition  were  so  clearly  of  a  partisan 
character,  that  no  reliance  could  be  placed  on  them  ;  the  rather 
that  they  had  been  regularly  annulled  by  other  parliaments, 
whenever  the  Yorkists  came  into  temporary  power ;  and, 
again,  the  flaws  in  his  own  Lancastrian  descent  militated  against 
this  title. 

Thirdly,  he  might  have  urged  his  title  on  the  plea  of  right 
by  conquest ;  but  against  this,  first,  stood  the  fact,  that  his  vic¬ 
torious  army  consisted  mainly  of  Englishmen,  who  could  not 
be  said  to  have  conquered  the  eFown  of  England  ;  and,  second, 
the  extreme  odiousness  of  the  plea  of  right  by  conquest,  in¬ 
sulting  aP  the  patriotic  feelings  of  the  entire  nation ;  a  plea  which 


Hume,  In  Henry  VII.,  voL  lit.  p.  27,  fa 


30 


HENRY  KING  BY  POSSESSION. 


even  William  of  Normandy,  at  the  head  of  his  victorious  for 
eign  army,  dared  not  to  assert,  until  he  was  fully  established 
on  the  throne,  and  the  realm  pacified. 

Fourthly,  he  might  have  claimed  the  crown  fairly ,  in  right 
of  Elizabeth  of  York,  had  he  married  her  instantly,  as  he  had 
pledged  himself  to  do.  But  he  had  no  idea  of  holding  the 
crown,  only  under  the  limited  rights  of  king  consort,  and  was 
resolved  to  be  himself  king  of  England. 

To  this  end,  when  he  entered  London,  amid  the  acclama¬ 
tions  and  rejoicings  of  the  fickle  populace,  weary  of  war  and 
bloodshed,  anxious  above  all  things  for  repose,  and  naturally 
attracted  by  the  charm  which  invests  a  ysung  and  victorious 
prince,  he  summoned  a  parliament,  and  procured  his  recogni¬ 
tion  as  “  king  in  possession,”  and  an  entail  of  the  crown,  couched 
in  words  which  equally  avoided  the  assertion  of  a  previous  he¬ 
reditary  right,  and  the  appearance  of  a  new  ordinance,  no  men 
tion  being  made  in  it  of  the  princess,  Elizabeth  of  York,  or 
any  of  her  family. 

•‘The  parliament*  voted  simply,  ‘that  the  inheritance  of 
the  crown  should  rest,  remain,  and  abide  in  the  king;’  but 
whether  as  rightful  heir,  or  only  as  present  possessor,  was  not 
determined.” 

In  like  manner,  though  the  crown  was  settled  on  the  heirs 
of  the  body  of  the  king,  no  attempt  was  made,  in  the  case  of 
their  failure,  to  exclude  the  house  of  York,  or  to  give  prece¬ 
dence  to  that  of  Lancaster;  the  king  politicly  preferring  to 
leave  that  question  ambiguous. 

Henry  of  Richmond  was  crowned  King  Henry  VII.,  by 
Cardinal  Bourchier,  archbishop  of  Canterbury;  he  shortly  after 
ward  married  Elizabeth,  the  heiress  of  York  ;  and,  in  the  fol- 

•  Hume,  In  Henry  VII.,  vol.  ill.  p.  9. 


CRUEL  ACTS  OF  ATTAINDER, 


SI 


lowing  year,  as  if,  after  all  his  precautions,  lie  was  sti’l  unsat¬ 
isfied  with  the  validity  of  his  own  title,  he  obtained  fr  m  Pope 
Innocent  VIII.  a  bull  confirmatory  of  it.  In  this  dor  .ment,  all 
his  titles,  by  succession,  marriage,  parliamentary  ioice,  and 
conquest,  are  enumerated  ;  and  the  thunders  of  tb  church  are 
launched  “  against  every  one*  who  should  seek  tc  disturb  him¬ 
self  in  the  present  possession,  or  the  heirs  of  f  s  body  in  the 
future  succession,  of  the  crown.” 

His  first  regal  act,  by  consent  of  parliament,  was  the  rever¬ 
sal  of  all  the  attainders  passed  by  preceding  parliaments  against 
the  adherents  of  the  house  of  Laucaster ;  but  this  deed  of  grace 
and  justice  he  sullied  bj'  procuring  the  passage  of  acts  of  at¬ 
tainder  against  the  late  king  himself,  against  the  Duke  of  Nor¬ 
folk,  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  the  Lords  Lovel,  Zouch,  and  Ferrars 
of  Chartley,  and  some  thirty  knights  and  gentlemen,  who  had 
fought  on  the  side  of  the  late  king  at  Bosworth — an  act  equally 
unjust,  inexpedient,  and  injurious  to  the  popularity  with  which 
Henry  began  his  reign. 

It  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  that  in  this  very  king’s  reign, 
and  by  his  complaisant  and  servile  parliament,  a  statute  was 
passed — 2  Henry  VII.  c.  1 — clearly  recognizing  the  wicked¬ 
ness  and  injustice  of  such  retributory  penalties  ;f  “by  which 
a  shield  was  acquired  against  the  violence  and  vengeance  of  fac¬ 
tions,  and  the  civil  duty  of  allegiance  was  placed  on  a  just  foun¬ 
dation,  by  destroying  the  distinction  between  governments  'de 
jure ’  and  lde  fade  ' 

“  It  enacts  that  no  person,  who  in  arms  or  otherwise  assists 
..he  king,  for  the  time  being,  should  afterward  be  convicted  or 

*  flnmo,  in  Ilenry  VII.,  voi.  ill.  p.  9. 

t  Stephens  on  the  hnglish  Constitution,  voL  1,  ohap.  vi,  p.  154-5.  This  statute  was 
%eted  on  by  William  and  Mary,  in  16S9. 


32 


HIS  CONDUCT  AND  ITS  EFFECTS. 


attainted  thereof,  as  of  an  offense,  by  course  of  law,  or  by  act 
of  parliament,^ and  all  process  and  acts  of  parliament  to  the 
contrary  should  be  void.” 

In  order  to  avoid  protracting  this  preliminary  notice 
which  will  be  found  absolutely  necessary  for  the  comprelien 
sion  of  the  occurrences  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  of  the 
causes  which  enabled  him  to  ride,  as  it  were,  rough-shod  over 
all  the  prejudices  and  predilections,  religious  and  political,  all 
the  liberties  and  most  of  the  laws,  of  a  people,  free  aud  ordi¬ 
narily  tenacious  of  its  rights,  privileges,  and  customs — I  shall 
proceed  to  quote  a  few  passages  from  Stephens’  History  of  the 
British  Constitution,  which,  while  admirably  portraying  the 
character  of  Henry  VII.,  the  nature  of  his  aggressions,  and  the 
means  by  which  he  effected  them,  show  also  conclusively  the 
effects  of  these  on  the  temper  of  the  English  nation,  and 
preclude  the  necessity  of  entering  into  minute  historical  par 
ticulars. 

‘•Henry  VII.,”  says  he*  “  a  creature  of  the  people,  had  beeu 
raised  to  the  throne,  in  order  to  cut  up  the  roots  of  faction,  to 
restore  public  tranquillity,  and  to  establish  a  legal  government 
on  the  ruins  of  tyranny. 

“  He  did  the  very  reverse  of  this ;  his  reign  and  that  of  his 
son  have  been  two  of  the  severest  under  which  our  country 
hath  groaned ;  aud  yet  in  these  very  reigns,  the  foundations  of 
liberty  were  laid  much  broader  and  stronger  than  ever. 

“The  king,  under  the  pretext  of  establishing  liberty,  ob¬ 
tained  an  ascendency  over  the  deliberations  of  the  commons, 
and  as  practical  proofs  of  the  sincerity  of  his  ‘liberal  profes¬ 
sions’  to  his  ‘liberal  friends,’  procured  the  powers  of  th  Star 


Stephens,  Brit  Conet,  vol.  vl.,  p.  151,  et  seq. 


EXTORTIONS  OF  HENRY  VII. 


33 


chamber,  and  causelessly  procured  numerous  bills  of  attainder, 
in  order  to  gratify  his  hateful  prejudices. 

“The  increased  powers  of  the  estates  of  parliament  are 
evinced  by  their  vesting  the  crown  in  Henry  VII.,  without  al¬ 
leging  any  title  in  him  to  that  crown,  by  inheritance,  election, 
or  otherwise. 

“  This  had  the  effect  of  exalting  the  authority  of  the  com¬ 
mons,  and  Henry  availed-  himself  of  such  authority,  by  exer¬ 
cising  all  his  tyrannical  acts  through  their  instrumentality ;  in 
fact,  both  united  in  one  common  object,  namely  to  destroy  the 
influence  of  the  peers. 

“The  facilities,  which  had  been  given  to  the  lords  to  alienate 
their  lands,  united  with  the  enlargement  of  commerce  and  nav¬ 
igation,  had  increased  the  property  of  the  commons,  and  con¬ 
sequently  their  power  in  the  state ;  but,  as  the  nobility  de¬ 
creased,  the  tyranny  of  the  king  and  commons  increased,  and 
to  a  much  more  dangerous  extent  than  it  had  ever  done  under 
the  feudal  laws.  ******** 

“  In  the  house  of  lords  the  influence  of  the  crown  was  al¬ 
ways  predominant,  the  number  of  temporal  peers  having,  du¬ 
ring  this  reign,  averaged  about  forty,*  and  at  the  commence¬ 
ment  not  so  many  ;  the  spiritual  lords  having  been  therefore 
always  the  majority  of  the  house. 

“  Henry  VII.  proceeded,  as  he  had  been  suffered  to  set  out, 
and  established  by  degrees,  and  those  not  slow,  a  power  almost 
absolute.  By  making  an  ill  use  of  this  power,  the  king  was 

•The  number  of  barons  summoned  to  parliament  In  the  reign  of  Edward  L,  and 
In  the  first  years  of  Edward  II., — in  whoso  Close  Roll,  15  Ed.  II.,  tbe  earls  and  ba¬ 
rons  are  first  called  “  Peers  of  the  land  " — averaged  about  eighty. 

The  house  of  lords  In  the  first  parliament  of  Richard  II.,  consisted  of  the  archbish¬ 
ops,  bishops,  twenty-two  abbots,  two  priors,  one  duke,  thirteen  earls,  forty -seven  ha- 
-ons,  twelve  judges  and  privy  counsellors. —  Ougilale'n  Summons ,  Cf>9 


34 


EXTORTIONS  OF  HENRY  VII. 


the  real  author  of  all  the  disorders  in  the  state,  and  of  all  the 
attempts  against  his  government  ;  and  yet,  the  better  to  pre¬ 
vent  such  disorders  and  to  resist  such  attempts,  further  powers 
were  entrusted  to  him. 

“  Because  he  had  governed  ill,  it  was  put  in  his  power  to 
govern  worse;  and  liberty  was  undermined  for  fear  it  should 
be  overthrown.  It  hath  fared  sometimes  with  monarchy  as  it 
hath  with  the  church  of  Rome ;  both  have  acquired  greater 
wealth  and  power  by  the  abuse  of  what  they  had ;  and  man¬ 
kind  have  been  egregiously  the  bubbles  of  both.” 

After  proceeding  to  point  out  the  adoption  by  this  monarch, 
Henry  VII.,  of  the  “unfair  system  of  benevolences  or  contri¬ 
butions,”  which  gifts,  though  apparently  voluntary,  were  extor¬ 
tions ;  his  unceasing  and  oppressive  efforts  to  amass  treasure, 
by  every  alteration  of  the  laws,  by  prosecutions  upon  old  and 
forgotten  penal  statutes,  by  perversion  of  the  feudal  rights,  by 
the  imposition  of  excessive  fines  on  king’s  wards,  by  the  pros¬ 
titution  of  justice  and  commutation  of  punishments  for  a  price, 
and  by  the  open  sale  of  every  office  in  his  court,  and  of  the 
highest  dignities  in  the  church, — Stephens  concludes  by  ob¬ 
serving,  with  his  usual  shrewdness  and  pith — “  These  extor¬ 
tions  and  corruptions  contributed  to  the  unpopularity  of  Hen 
ry,  and  answered  the  end  of  invigorating  his  power ;  they  were 
tolerated  by  the  commons,  because  the  fines  and  forfeitures  im¬ 
poverished  and  intimidated  the  nobility.” 

The  same  writer  says,  quoting  from  Hume,  “  It  has,  how¬ 
ever,  been  justly  observed,  that  the  measures  of  parliament, 
during  this  age,  furnish  us  with  examples  of  a  strange  contrast 
of  freedom  and  servility.  They  scruple  to  grant,  and  some¬ 
times  refuse,  to  the  king  the  smallest  supplies,  the  most  ne- 
oessarv  for  the  support  of  the  government,  even  the  most  ne- 


HIS  CHARACTER. 


35 


cessary  for  the  maintenance  of  wars,  fot  which  the  nation,  as 
well  a3  the  parliament  itself,  expressed  great  fondness ;  but 
they  never  scruple  to  concur  in  the  most  flagrant  act  of  injus¬ 
tice  or  tyranny  which  falls  on  any  individual,  however  distiii 
guised  by  birth  or  merit. 

“These  maxims,  so  ungenerous,  so  opposite  to  all  principles 
of  good  government,  so  contrary  to  the  practice  of  present 
parliaments,  are  very  remarkable  in  all  the  transactions  of  the 
English  history  for  more  than  a  century  after  the  period  in 
which  we  are  now  engaged.”* 

Finally,  he  closes  his  relation  of  the  enactments,  laws,  inno 
vations,  and  policy  of  the  reign  of  this  cold-blooded  and  un- 
/  principled  man  and  king,  by  these  striking  words  • 

“  The  only  objects  of  Henry  VII.  were,  per  fas  aut  nefas,  to 
maintain  the  possession  of  the  throne,  depress  the  nobility,  and 
exalt  the  prerogative  ;  these  he  pursued  without  being  blinded 
V _ by  passion,  relaxed  by  indolence,  or  misled  by  vanity.” 

And  this  brings  me  to  the  period  when  the  first  prince  of 
the  house  of  Tudor,  who  had  ascended  the  throne,  as  it  were, 
by  acclamation  and  among  the  loud  joy  of  the  people,  de¬ 
parted  from  it  and  life  together,  amid  their  far  more  general 
and,  if  not  louder,  infinitely  sincerer  rejoicings.  He  was  a 
selfish,  cold-blooded,  far-sighted,  clear-headed,  avaricious,  and 
unfeeling  man — a  politic,  wise,  energetic,  able,  sleepless,  grasp 
ing,  and  oppressive  king. 

Publicly  and  privately,  with  the  exception  of  his  own  son 
and  successor,  he  was  the  most  reckless  and  cruellest,  with  the 

< exception  of  James,  the  first  English  king  of  the  Scottish  house 
of  Stuart,  the  basest-minded,  and  altogether,  from  nis  con- 


*  Rlohard  IIL,  14S8,  1485. 


36 


DEPRESSION  OF  THE  NOBLES. 


stimulate  craft  and  total  lack  of  passion,  the  most  dangerous 
tyrant,  who  ever  sat  upon  the  throne  of  England. 

It  may  be  added  here,  not  inappropriately,  that  the  syste¬ 
matic  depression  of  the  nobles  and  of  the  aristocratic  branch 
of  the  legislature,  by  the  seventh  and  eighth  Henry s,  by  the 
arbitrary  and  self-willed,  but  lion-hearted,  Elizabeth,  and  by 
that  odious,  contemptible,  and  beastly  pedant,  sot,  catamite, 
and  coward,  James  I.,  was  severely  avenged  on  their  posterity, 
in  the  persons  of  the  two  Charles  Stuarts,  when  they  found 
to  their  fate,  that  the  peerage  had  lost  its  power  to  stand  be¬ 
tween  the  crown  and  the  aggressions  of  the  people,  as  it  had 
been  previously  robbed  of  that,  to  stand  between  the  individ¬ 
ual  and  the  tyranny  of  the  crown. 


-vf 

n 


HENRY  THE  EIGHTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 


FROM  HIS  ACCESSION,  1609,  TO  THE  GENERAL  PACIFICATION,  1618. 

On  the  22d  day  of  April,  1509,  King  Henry  VII.,  who  had 
ascended  the  throne  of  England  twenty -four  years  before,  amid 
the  acclamations  of  a  whole  people,  almost  unanimously  hail¬ 
ing  him  as  the  man  of  a  new  era,  and  the  founder  of  a  new 
epoch,  died  in  the  midst  of  joy  far  more  general,  sincere  and 
better  founded  than  that  which  had  greeted  his  accession. 

On  that  same  22d  of  April,  1509,  his  son,  King  Henry  VIII. 
ascended  the  same  puissant  seat,  among  the  same  joy,  the  same 
acclamations,  under  far  brighter  auspices,  far  loftier  promise, 
in  his  turn  to  die,  after  a  reign  of  thirty-seven  years,  on  the 
28th  day  of  January,  1547,  amid  the  undissembled  rejoicings 
of  the  most  loyal  people  in  the  world,  alienated  from  the  true 
affections,  which  they  bore  him,  by  tyranny,  cruelty,  crime, 
happily  unexampled  in  Europe,  unless  we  return  to  the  days 
of  Tiberius,  Nero,  and  Domitian. 

For  the  oppressions,  bad  as  they  were,  of  the  seventh  Hen¬ 
ry,  there  are  palliations,  if  not  excuses,  to  be  found  in  the  cir¬ 
cumstances,  both  antecedent  and  subsequent  to  his  seizure  of 
the  throne.  Even  for  his  seizure  of  it  there  was  some  shadow 
of  apology. 

England,  al  the  period  of  his  invasion,  was  groan  ng  under 
the  usurped  rule 


Of  an  untitled  tyrant,  bloody  aceptered;" 


38 


ACCESSION  OF  HENRY  VIII. 


the  true  heiress  to  the  crown  was  a  weak  girl,  who,  even  if  it 
had  been  possible  for  her  to  attain  her  rights,  could  by  no 
conceivable  chance  have  governed  the  turbulent  spirits  of  the 
two  rival  factions,  which,  for  well  nigh  a  century,  had  torn  the 
intestines  of  their  native  land ;  and  he  himself,  if  not  the  le¬ 
gitimate  heir,  had  in  some  degree  been  led  to  regard  himself 
as  such,  and  was,  it  must  be  admitted,  the  only  living  person 
who  could  be  hoped-  to  unite  such  a  force  under  his  banners 
as  to  rescue  England,  and  when  rescued,  to  give  her  peace, 
repose,  and  the  blessings  of  a  permanent  and  just  government. 

That  he  did  not,  scarcely  made  a  show  even  of  doing,  this 
latter  is  his  crime  and  his  disgrace ;  but  it  must  be  remem¬ 
bered — 

That  he  ascended  the  throne  under  these  difficulties —  He 
ascended  it,  at  the  best,  with  a  doubtful  and  disputed  title; 
with  powerful,  greedy,  and  clamorous  partisans,  to  be  concili¬ 
ated  and  preserved  only  by  rewards,  necessarily  more  or  less 
illegal ;  with  active  and  formidable  enemies  to  be  suppressed  ; 
with  a  flagrant  feeling  of  wrongs  to  be  avenged. 

Throughout  his  whole  reign  he  felt  his  occupancy  of  his 
throne  and  the  permanency  of  his  race  at  least  doubtful.  To 
secure  both  he  took  all  means,  by  overpowering  enemies, 
quelling  the  free  spirit  of  the  people,  amassing  treasures, 
whereby  to  weigh  down  opposition.  That  he  should  do  so, 
was  natural  in  itself ;  that  he  did  so,  wrongfully,  oppressively, 
illegally,  and  heartlessly,  was  his  sin  and  his  shame,  and  the 
consequence  was  not  wanting? 

He  died  the  wealthiest,  probably  the  most  powerful,  assu¬ 
redly  the  most  detested,  prince  in  Europe. 

His  son  succeeded  him,  with  the  gayest  and  most  glorious 
auguries  that  ever  lighted  a  young  heir  to  royalty.  There 


HIS  QUALITIES  AND  OCCASIONS. 


39 


was  not  one  cloud  to  cast  a  shadow  upon  the  sunshine  of  his 
promise. 

His  title  was  undisputed,  his  crown  his  by  right,  as  in  fact,  and 
as  by  the  universal  consent  of  the  people,  ^over  whom  God  in 
his  wonderful  wisdom  permitted  him  to  reign.  lie  had  no 
hatreds,  public  or  domestic,  to  gratify,  no  injuries  to  avenge, 
no  feuds  to  cherish,  no  onerous  benefits  to  repay,  no  clamorous 
adherents  to  conciliate  or  satisfy.  He  was  in  the  flower  of 
youth,  just  entering  his  eighteenth  year ;  overflowing  with 
health  and  animal  spirits  ;  handsome,  of  royal  port  and  manly 
stature  of  the  largest  mould  ;*  expert  in  all  graceful  and  ath¬ 
letic  exercises;  blessed  with  an  education,!  most  rare  for 
princes  or  nobles  in  those  days,  and  entitled  to  be  held  learned, 
even  among  men  of  uncommon  learning. 

He  possessed  a  bold,  frank,  open  address,  which  ever  wins 
favor  from  the  people;  he  had  a  ready  wit;  was  not  without  that 
sort  of  bluff  and  burly  good  humor  arising,  in  truth,  only  from 
a  sense  of  well-being  and  self-gratification,  which  so  often 


*  Sir  Henry  Halford,  who  examined  tho  remains  of  Henry  VIII.  in  bis  coffin — 
when  it  was  discovered,  during  the  search  made  by  George  IV.  for  the  remains  of 
Charles  I.,  broken  open,  probably,  at  the  interment  of  that  monarch  —  was  as¬ 
tonished  at  the  extraordinary  size  and  power  of  his  preserved  frame,  which  was 
well  suited  to  his  enormous  arm-chair,  said  to  bo  at  Windsor.  He  resembled  the 
colossal  figure  of  his  grandfather,  Edward  IV.,  who  was  six  feet  two  inches  in  height, 
and  possessed  of  tremendous  strongth. — A Tote  to  Miss  Strickland's  Queens  of  En¬ 
gland,  -col.  ii.  p.  285. 

t  His  education  was  accurate,  being  destined  (its  a  credible  author  affirms)  to  the 
archbishopric  of  Canterbury,  during  the  life  of  his  elder  brother.  Prince  Arthur; 
tnat  prudent  king,  his  father,  choosing  this  as  the  most  cheap  and  glorious  way  for 
bestowing  a  younger  son.  For  as  he  at  once  disburdened  his  revenues  and  the  pub¬ 
lic  from  the  charge  incident  to  so  great  a  person,  so  he  left  a  passage  open  to  ambi¬ 
tion;  ever  since  Eugenius,  4,  had  declared  the  place  of  a  cardinal  above  all  other  in 
the  church.  *  *  *  *  By  these  means,  not  only  the  more  necessary  parts  of 

learning  were  infused  into  him,  hut  even  those  of  ornament;  so  that  besides  his 
being  an  able  Latinist,  philosopher,  and  divine,  he  was  (what  one  might  wonder  at 
in  a  king)  a  carious  musician  ;  as  two  entire  masses,  composed  by  him,  and  often 
•ling  in  his  chapel,  did  abundantly  witness. — Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  pp.  8-4. 


40 


INCONSISTENCY  OF  HENRY’S  CAREER. 


passes  in  the  great  for  goodness  of  heart ;  and  was  abundantly 
liberal,  even  to  lavish  profusion,  which,  of  all  qualities  in 
princes,  most  challenges  the  admiration,  and  purchases  the  af¬ 
fection  of  the  masses. 

In  view  of  his  occasions,  his  personal  capacities,  his  acquired 
qualifications,  the  real  grandeur  of  his  position,  which  had  no 
single  draw-back,  and  his  general  popularity  with  all  classes 
and  estates  of  the  realm,  it  may  be  safely  said,  that  no  mon¬ 
arch  ever  climbed  the  steps  of  state  with  such  opportunities 
of  real  utility,  greatness,  and  goodness,  of  living  rich  in  a 
people’s  love,  and  dying  with  an  immortal  name,  as  Henry 
VIII.  of  England. 

“  It  is  not  easy,”  say  s  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  in  his  exor¬ 
dium  to  the  history  of  King  Henry  VIII.,  “to  write  that 
prince’s  history,  of  whom  no  one  thing  may  be  constantly  af¬ 
firmed.  Changing  of  manners  and  condition  alters  that  co¬ 
herence  of  parts  which  should  give  an  uniform  description  ; 
nor  is  it  probable  that  contradictories  should  agree  to  the 
same  person.  So  that  nothing  can  shake  the  credit  of  a  narra¬ 
tion  more,  than  if  it  grow  unlike  itself ;  when  yet,  it  may 
be,  not  the  author,  but  argument  caused  the  variation.  It  is 
impossible  to  draw  his  picture  well  who  hath  several  coun¬ 
tenances. 

“  I  shall  labor  with  this  difficulty  in  King  Henry  VllL  ;  not 
yet  so  much  for  the  general  observation  among  politics,  that  the 
government  of  princes  rarely  grows  milder  toward  their  latter 
end ;  but  that  this  king,  in  particular,  being,  about  his  decli¬ 
ning  age,  so  different  in  many  of  his  desires,  as  that  he  knew 
not  well  how  either  to  command  or  obey  them,  interverted 
all,  falMug  at  the  Inst,  into  such  violent  courses,  as  in  common 


GRADUAL  DETERIORATION. 


41 


opinion  derogated  not  a  little  from  those  virtues  which  at  f  rst 
made  him  one  of  the  most  renowned  princes  of  Christendom.” 

There  is  not,  however,  so  much  to  be  admired  at  in  the  de¬ 
clension  of  Henry  VIII.  as  it  would  seem  to  have  appeared  to 
his  quaint  and  eccentric  biographer ;  for,  according  to  the 
views  in  which  I  see  his  vicious  and  loathsome  character,  I  can 
discover  nothing  beyond  an  original  proclivity  to  evil,  increas¬ 
ing  gradually,  through  self-indulgence,  through  entire  absence 
of  all  governance  or  restraint  by  himself  or  others,  through 
almost  absolute  power  of  self-gratification,  and  through  the 
basest  adulation  of  all  around  him,  until  everything  that  there 
had  existed  in  him  of  relatively  good  was  merged  in  a  slough 
of  sensuality,  selfishness,  self-sufficiency,  and  disregard  to  all 
but  his  own  pleasures ;  and  he  became  a  mere  slave  to  his 
vile  lusts  and  unbridled  passions. 

This  is  but  the  common  course  of  daily  human  nature. 
The  first  sin,  before  the  commission  of  which’  the  novice 
shrinks  and  trembles,  essayed,  repeated,  unresisted,  followed 
by  no  sensible  retribution,  become  habitual,  is  but  the  intro¬ 
ducer  to  another,  to  a  thousand  others,  each  uglier  than  the 
last,  until  the  consequential  train  of  that  first  trivial-seeming 

error  1ms  swollen  into  a  burthen  of  millstone  offences  that 

« 

might  suffice  to  unsphere  and  sink  the  brightest  star  of  honor 
To  me  there  are  discoverable  none  of  those  varieties  of  counte 
nance,  of  which  the  historian  speaks,  in  the  hideous  picture  ol 
Henry’s  career  of  lust  and  cruelty.  Only  that  gradual  dark 
ening  of  the  first  faint  glimmer  of  light,  if  any  light  can  be  found 
in  the  beginning,  until  the  whole  is  utter  darkness. 

No  one,  as  the  Roman  satirist  declared,  having  the  Roman 
Nero  in  his  eye,  can  be  entirely  infamous  from  the  first ; 
crime  must  be  hatched  out  of  sin,  and  brooded  by  indulgence. 


42 


DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 


The  soul  must  be  hardened  and  annealed  by  successive  and 
progressive  heatings  of  the  furnace  before  it  can  acquire  that 
temper  which  can  defy  all  impress  of  nature,  virtue,  or  human¬ 
ity.  It  is  only  the  superficial  observer,  who  mistakes  the  ab¬ 
sence  of  active  vice  for  the  reality  of  actual  virtue,  that  is  as¬ 
tonished  at  the  alteration,  at  the  regular  but  rapid  deteriora¬ 
tion  of  character  in  the  career,  whether  of  the  English  or  the 
Roman  Nero. 

But  from  theorizing  on  the  principles  involved,  I  will  turn 
at  once  to  the  display  of  the  facts  of  his  career. 

He  ascended  the  throne  of  England,  as  I  have  stated,  in  the 
eighteenth  year  of  his  age,  at  the  commencement  of  a  great 
epoch  in  the  world’s  history,  and  in  an  era  distinguished  by 
more  great  names  of  greatest  men  contemporaneous,  and  great¬ 
est  events  crowding  each  one  the  other  out  of  notice,  than  any 
that  had  occurred  before,  since  the  fall  of  the  Roman  empire, 
or  has  occurred  since,  until  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  and  com 
mencement  of  the  nineteenth  centuries. 

<  Less  than  forty  years  before  his  birth,  in  1455,  the  first  bi-  * 
ble  had  been  printed  at  Mentz ;  and  books  which,  multiplied 
only  by  the  slow  and  painful  art  of  the  copyist,  were  previously 
valued  at  almost  their  weight  in  gold,  and  were  attainable 
only  by  the  greatest  and  most  wealthy,  became  so  general  that 
the  truth  could  no  longer  be  concealed  from  the  masses,  whether 
for  good  or  for  evil,  nor  darkness  any  more  usurp  the  place  of 
light 

-f.  When  he  was  but  one  year  old,  America  was  rediscovered 
by  Christopher  Columbus,  who,  as  the  phrase  went  in  those 
days,  gave  a  new  world  to  Castille  and  Leon  ;  and  to  the  nig¬ 
gard  and  unkingly  avarice  of  his  father,  Henry  VII.,  alone, is  it 
to  be  ascribed  that  those  vast  realms  of  tropical  fertility  and 


43 


#> 

REFORMATION  AND  EXTINCTION  OF  CHIVALRY. 

auriferous  wealth,  now  slowly  but  surely  dropping  from  the 
hands  of  the  degenerate  Spanish  race  which  first  won  them, 
had  noc  fallen,  on  their  first  discovery,  to  that  great  and  ener 
getic  Anglo-Norman  tribe,  which  now  seems  destined  one  day 
M?  possess  them. 

—  Ten  years  after  he  ascended  the  throne.  Luther  began  to 
preach  against  the  sale  of  indulgences  and  the  supremacy  of 
the  pope ;  began  to  sow  the  seeds  of  that  wondrous  and  bene¬ 
ficent  revolution,  in  which  Henry  himself,  unwittingly  as  un¬ 
willingly,  and  through  the  instigation  of  his  odious  lusts,  the 
agency  of  his  atrocious  cruelties,  was  destined  to  play  so  im¬ 
portant,  and,  had  he  but  played  it  knowingly  and  faithfully,  so 
magnificent  a  part. 

Five  years  yet  later,  when  he  had  ruled  England  only  fifteen 
years  of  the  thirty-seven  during  which  he  oppressed  her  throne 
with  the  weight  of  his  bloody  tyranny/ chivalry  fought  its  last 
fight,  and  found  its  grave  at  Marignano  and  Pavia ;  and  gun¬ 
powder  decided  that  the  steel-clad  cavalry  of  the  feudal  aristoc¬ 
racies  should  no  longer  override  the  people,  and  decide  the 
fate  of  nations,  by  the  shock  of  their  lances  and  the  clang  of 
their  iron  horsedioofs. 

Four  new  powers,  in  the  world,  within  the  space  in  which 
one  man  creeps  from  his  cradle  to  his  grave  !  And  what  four 
powers ! — each  mightier  in  itself  and  in  its  consequences,  than 
all  which  the  intellect  of  man  had  developed,  in  all  the  antece¬ 
dent  centuries — each  in  itself  sufficient  to  have  revolutionized 
the  world,  and  recreated  a  new  society  ;  and,  when  all  four 
united,  incapable  of  what  1 

A  new  power  of  the  intellect,  giving  ubiquitous  expansion, 
everlasting  life,  incompressible  circulation,  to  all  other  pow 


44 


GROWING  POWER  OF  THE  MASSES. 

ers  it  had  before,  or  should  invent  hereafter ;  making  knowl¬ 
edge  omnipresent,  light  instantaneous,  truth  universal. 

/  A  new  world,  destined  from  its  very  origin  to  invent,  to 
imagine,  to  aim  at,  to  compass  all  things  new ;  ideas,  govern¬ 
ments,  liberties,  religions,  theories ;  to  strike  at  all  things  old, 
loyalties,  hierarchies,  venerations,  superstitions,  creeds  ;  and  to 
strike  down  many  of  them ;  many  of  them  it  may  be,  for 
good  ;  many,  it  is  to  be  feared,  for  evil. 

A  new  power  of  religion,  shaking  the  world  of  ancient  error 
to  its  foundations ;  tearing  the  black  veil  of  abominable  dark¬ 
ness  with  which  a  tyrannous  and  polluted  church  had  enshrouded 
its  light,  from  before  the  sanctuary  ;  proclaiming  the  inviola¬ 
bility  of  conscience ;  the  responsibility  of  the  individual  man 
to  his  God,  and  the  accessibility  of  God  to  the  individual  man, 
apart  from  the  mutterings  of  any  earthly  confessional,  or  the 
indulgence  of  any  mortal  mediator  or  dispenser. 

A  new  power  in  war,  equalizing  the  weak  with  the  strong, 
the  peaceful  with  the  warlike ;  snatching  the  sway  of  battles 
from  the  fierce  nobles,  who  had  monopolized  it  for  centuries, 
with  their  iron  squadrons ;  and  giving  it  to  the  yeoman  and 
the  hunter,  to  the  humble  infantry  of  the  masses. 

Four  powers,  all  tending  to  one  eud,  the  perfect  establish¬ 
ment  of  perfect  liberty  and  truth ;  and  yet  by  what  unhal¬ 
lowed  means,  by  what  unholy  instruments,  through  what  vicis 
situdes,  by  what  men ! 

What  men,  indeed  !  Of  what  other  king,  save  Henry  VI 1L 
of  England,  can  we  summon  up  such  contemporaries?  In 
Germany,  Charles  V.  In  France,  Francis  I.  In  Spain,  Fer¬ 
dinand  and  Isabella.  In  the  Papal  chair,  Leo  X.  In  the  Sub 
lime  Porte,  Solyman  the  Magnificent.  And,  as  the  inferior 
persons,  yet  real  powers  of  the  states,  and  motors  of  the  masses, 


WARS  OF  THE  PLANTA GEKETS. 


45 


Columbu-i,  Luther,  Wolsey,  Calvin,  Cranmer — when  will  the 
world  again  behold  such  men  combined,  and  such  a  crisis  1 
And  yet  what  part  do  we  find  Henry  playing,  which  side  buck¬ 
lering,  on  this  great  stage,  in  this  mighty  conflict  of  opinions, 
causes,  principles  1  What  part  worthy  of  a  man  exceedingly 
superior  in  natural  qualifications,  and  splendidly  endowed  with 
artificial  acquirements — what  side  worthy  of  the  king  of  a  na¬ 
tion,  free,  as  freedom  went  in  those  days,  intelligent,  enlight¬ 
ened,  and  earnest  in  the  question  ]  The  answer  is  brief  and 
ready.  At  the  head  of  a  powerful  and  united  nation,  secured, 
as  one  would  have  thought,  from  all  danger  of  collision  with 
his  Scottish  neighbors,  by  the  marriage  of  his  eldest  sister, 
Margaret,  to  the  king,  Janies  IV.,  of  that  brave  and  restless 
nation,  possessing  the  richest  treasury  in  Europe,  in  command 
of  the  finest  infantry  in  the  world,  which  had  never  failed  in 
the  time  of  direst  need,  and  of  a  chivalry  second  to  none, 
Henry  was  the  first  English  monarch  who  ever  designedly  and 
avowedly  interfered,  as  an  European  power,  in  the  politics  of 
the  continent. 

The  kings,  his  predecessors,  the  lion-hearted  and  iron-handed 
Plantagenets,  had  indeed,  waged  bloody  wars  in  France;  and 
on  more  than  one  occasion  had  given  the  English  banners  to 
wave  in  Spanish  and  Burgundian  breezes  ;  but  their  efforts 
against  France  were  personal,  their  hostility  partaking  the 
character  of  a  family  feud,  and  their  cause  of  war  originating 
in  the  maintenance,  vindication,  or  recovery  of  their  provinces 
of  Normandy,  Brittany,  hereditary  appanages  of  the  crown, 
from  the  time  ol  the  conqueror,  and  of  Anjou  and  Guienne, 
acquired  by  intermarriage  with  the  heiresses  of  those  states  or 
counties.  Their  incursions  into  Spain,  Holland,  or  the  Low- 
Countries,  had  arisen  from  casual  and  capricious  alliances  with 


46 


HIS  WANT  OF  FOLIC  r. 


various  princes  at  varimfe  times,  always  having  some  refeience 
to  their  traditional  Enemies  beyond  the  channel.  All  their 
continental  enterprises,  in  fact,  with  the  exception  of  their  per¬ 
sistence  in  their  claim  to  the  Anglo-French  demesnes,  had 
borne  more  the  character  of  angry  and  predatory  incursions 
than  of  wars  undertaken  on  any  settled  principles. 

Henry  now  advanced  his  claim  to  be  heard  in  Europe,  as  a 
voice  potential ;  and,  owing  to  his  insular  and  almost  inaccessi¬ 
ble  position  at  home,  to  his  brave  and  powerful  armies,  to  his 
great  resources,  and  unbounded  popularity  in  England,  he 
might  have  acted  as  arbiter  and  umpire  between  all  the  con¬ 
flicting  parties,  the  two  most  powerful,  France  and  Spain,  most 
easily ;  and,  holding  that  eminent  position,  might  have  pro¬ 
cured  for  himself  and  his  country,  at  no  expense,  whether  of 
wealth  or  blood,  all  the  advantages  to  be  obtained  by  wasteful 
and  needless  wars. 

Instead  of  this,  urged  by  vanity  rather  than  ambition,  by 
recklessness  rather  than  policy,  he  kept  the  country  involved 
in  constant  warfare,  now  on  the  French,  now  on  the  Spanish 
side ;  now  aiding  the  pope,  now  the  Protestant  princes  of  the 
Smalcaldic  league,  with  absolute  inconsistency  and  total  want 
of  either  scheme  or  principle.  It  may  be  safely  said,  that  uot 
one  of  the  wars  in  which  he  lavished  all  his  hereditary  treas¬ 
ures,  all  the  subsidies  that  he  wuld  by  any  means  extort  from 
his  people,  until  from  the  wealthiest  he  declined  into  the  poor¬ 
est  prince  of  Europe,  was  undertaken  in  accordance  with  any 
national  necessity,  any  sound  principle  of  English  or  European 
policy,  was  closed  with  any  gain  either  of  advantage  or  honor, ' 
or  was  in  any  wise  productive  either  of  real  or  reputed  good 
to  himself  or  to  his  people.  I  do  not,  of  course,  allude  to  his 
war  with  the  Scots,  which  was  forced  upon  him,  not  sought 


REDRESS  OF  GRIEVANCES. 


47 


and  which  would  probably  never  have  been  undertaken,  had 
he  remained  at  peace  within  his  own  dominions,  whence  no 
cause  but  his  own  reekless  vanity  had  called  him  to  commence 
an  onslaught  on  France,  which  had,  from  the  earliest  times, 
maintained  the  closest  intimacy  and  alliance  with  the  Scottish 
princes  of  the  house  of  Stuart,  with  whom  she  was  closely  con¬ 
nected  in  her  blood-royal. 

In  the  like  manner,  in  the  mighty  earthquake  of  the  Refor¬ 
mation,  his  policy  was  vacillating,  his  purpose  null,  his  weight 
thrown  away,  until,  when  at  length  it  was  cast  into  the  bal¬ 
ance,  and  instantly  bore  down  in  the  scale  the  arrogant  assump¬ 
tions  of  the  Papal  See,  and  raised  the  mounting  principles  of 
liberty  and  conscience  to  the  skies,  it  did  so  not  only  without 
his  hearty  accession,  but  in  spite  of  his  fierce  prejudices  and 
cruel  opposition  to  the  cause  which  he  obliquely  and  unin 
tentionally  favored,  only  because  to  do  so  favored  his  own 
sensuality. 

Not  to  anticipate,  however,  it  appears  that  on  his  first  ac¬ 
cession  to  the  throne,  he  submitted  himself  for  a  time  to  the 
guidance  of  his  paternal  grandmother,  the  countess  of  Rich¬ 
mond  and  Derby,  and  by  her  advice  retained  the  old  advisers 
of  the  king  as  his  council.  These  were  Warham,  archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  his  chancellor  ;  Sir  Thomas  Level,  constable  of 
the  tower  ;  Sir  Edward  Poyning,  comptroller;  Sir  Henry  Mar 
ney,  Sir  Thomas  Darcy,  Doctor  Ruthal,  and  Sir  Henry  Wy¬ 
att,  to  whom  he  associated  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  who  became 
his  especial  favorite,  as  treasurer,  and  Fox,  bishop  of  Winches¬ 
ter,  secretary  and  privy  seal.  By  their  advice  he  repudiated 
by  proclamation  all  the  illegal  extortions  and  levies  of  his 
father,  promised  redress  of  grievances,  and  the  punishment  of 
all  the  agents,  informers,  and  “  promoters,”  as  they  wer» 


48 


KMPSON  AND  DUDLEV. 


teemed,  by  whom  the  rapacity  of  Henry  VII.  had  been  fed, 
and  the  life  blood  drained  from  the  impoverished  and  groan¬ 
ing  people,  during  the  last  reign  of  brass.  The  redress  spoken 
of  extended  not,  however,  to  the  restitution  of  one  mark  of  the 
extorted  property ;  and  the  proclamation  only  enkindled  the 
rage  of  the  people  against  the  instruments  of  the  late  king’s  op¬ 
pressive  tyranny. 

The  only  permanent  effect  of  so  much  noise  and  promise* 
was  the  illegal  verdict  of  a  jury,  the  infamous  attainder  by  act 
of  parliament,  and  the  barbarous  warrant  of  the  king,  his  first 
act  of  judicial  murder — meet  commencement  of  a  reign  which 
blushed  crimson,  ore  its  close,  with  noble  and  guiltless  blood 
— by  which  Empson  and  Dudley  were  sacrificed  to  the  popu¬ 
lar  rage,  and  judicially  slaughtered  on  the  scaffold,  on  a  charge 
utterly  impossible,  and  which  not  a  man  in  all  England  be¬ 
lieved  to  be  true,  of  having  conspired  against  the  king,  and 
plotted  to  seize  the  reins  of  government — a  charge  brought 
against  them  only,  because  it  was  determined  to  destroy  them, 
whereas  they  had  committed  no  crime  for  which  they  could 
be  brought  to  punishment,  even  had  they  not  been  entitled 
to  plead  the  king’s  authority  in  defence  of  all  that  they  had 
done. 

Thus  did  this  much  belauded  boy-king,  in  the  first  days  of 
his  new  dignity,  repay  his  people  moneys  wrongfully  acquired 
and  no  less  wrongfully  retained,  by  the  innocent  blood  of  two 
wretched  men,  whose  only  crime  was  their  implicit  obedience 
to  his  own  odious  father.  Such  was  the  early  and  precocious 
virtue  so  much  admired  by  his  fautors,  and  the  mole-eyed  his¬ 
torians  who  have  followed  them,  “  which  at  first  made  him  one 
of  the  most  renowned  princes  of  Christendom.”  “  And  thus,”* 


•Hume,  in  King  Henry  VIII.,  vol  ill.  p.  81. 


MARRIAGE  OF  ARTHUR  AND  K  U'HARINB. 


49 


to  Lorre  w  the  apposite  remark  of  Hume,  in  those  arbitrary 
times,  justice  was  equally  violated,  whether  the  king  sought 
power  and  riches  or  courted  popularity.”  _  , 

But,  in  order  to  preserve  the  thread'  of  this  narrative  of 
Henry’s  first  blood-guiltiness,  I  have  somewhat  overstepped  the 
mark  ;  for,  although  these  wretches  were  convicted,  pilloried, 
and  paraded  through  the  streets  with  theii  faces  toward  then- 
horse’s  tails,  within  a  few  hours,  or  days  at  farthest,  after  the 
king’s  accession,  they  were  not  butchered  on  Tower  Hill  until 
the  18th  of  August,  of  the  ensuing  year,  when  it  was  found 
necessary  either  to  give  the  petitioners  their  promised  redress, 
or  to  satiate  them,  in  lieu  of  it  with  what  is  so  far  cheaper, 
blood.  And,  in  the  meantime,  a  circumstance  had  occurred,  the 
events  consequent  on  which  led  to  results  the  most  important  not 
only  of  that  king’s  life,  but  of  the  history  of  England — results 
which  have  not  ceased,  and  shall  not  cease  for  countless  unborn 
generations,  to  reckon  for  blessings  to  her  and  her  inhabitants. 

Eight  years  before  the  accession  of  the  present  monarch  to 
his  place,  there  had  been  a  day  in  England,  glorious  for  a  grand 
celebration  ;  and  Henry,  then  a  boy  of  ten  years,  destined  to 
be  the  future  archbishop  of  Canterbury*  had  doubtless  borne 
ow,  and  delighted  vastly  in  his  own  gorgeous 
apparel,  and  in  the  pomp  of  the  procession,  the  splendor  of  the 
chivalric  pageantry,  the  trumpets,  the  shoutings,  and  the  salvos 
of  the  ordnance. 

That  day  hailed  the  nuptials  f  of  his  elder  brother,  Arthur, 

♦Henry,  as  duke  of  York,  actually  conducted  the  bride  to  St  Paul’s,  in  quality  of 
his  brother's  groomsman. 

f  This  marriage  took  place  November  14, 1501.  Prince  Arthur  was  born  Scptem* 
ber  20, 14S6,  and  was  therefore  fifteen  years  two  months  old.  Catalina  was  born  De¬ 
cember  15,  14S5,  in  the  town  of  Alcala  de  Ilenares.  She  had  just  entered  htr  six 
teenth  year. — Jfiss  Strickland. 

c 


his  part  in  the  sh 


50 


DEATH  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR. 


prince  of  Wales,  and  heir  apparent  of  England,  then  in  his  six 
teenth  year,  with  Katharine  of  Arragon,  daughter  of  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,  ten  months  her  bridegroom’s  senior,  a  lady  of 
extraordinary'  beauty  and  accomplishments  ;  and  the  rejoicings 
nf  all  parties  appear  to  have  been  as  sincere  and  hearty  as  the 
pageantry  was  gay  and  glorious. 

But  the  happiness  of  the  young  pair,  if  happiness  there  were, 
was  as  transitory  as  the  show  that  inaugurated  it ;  for  on  the 
2d  day  of  April,  1502,  “Prince  Arthur  died  of  the  plague,  be¬ 
ing  in  the  principality  of  Wales,  in  a  place  they  call  Ludlow. 
In  this  house  was  Donna  Catalina  left  a  widow  when  she  had 
been  married  scarcely  six  months.”  * 

This  passage,  at  a  later  period,  may  be  remembered  with 
profit,  as  it  apparently  goes  to  admit  that  they  lived  as  hus¬ 
band  and  wife  during  their  sojourn  at  Ludlow ;  as  there  is  no 
conceivable  reason  why  they  should  not,  for  although  sixteen 
would  be  thought  young  now,  especially  on  the  male  side,  as 
an  age  at  which  to  marry,  no  one  would  hesitate  to  admit  that 
the  parties,  being  a  vigorous  English  boy  and  a  Spanish  maiden, 
were  decidedly  marriageable ;  and  it  must  be  remembered 
that,  at  the  date  of  which  I  write,  marriages  were  contracted 
far  earlier  than  would  be  now  held  judicious  or  advisable.  Af¬ 
ter  the  death  of  her  young  husband,  Katharine  still  continued 
in  England ;  until,  as  it  appears,  much  against  her  will,  Henry 
VII.  and  her  father,  Ferdinand,  a  cold-blooded,  crafty  politician, 
uot  widely  differing  in  manner  from  the  English  usurper, 
hatched  up  a  marriage  between  her  and  Henry,  duke  of  York, 
and  obtained  a  dispensation  from  the  then  ruling  pope,  Julius 
II.,  on  the  ground  that  the  former  marriage  had  been  merelj 


*  Bernaldes,  Spanish  Hist.  p.  286.  Quoted  by  Miss  Strickland,  vol.  it  p.  T8. 


TRANSACTIONS  FOR  MARRIAGE. 


51 


formal  and  had  remained  unccnsummated,  owing  to  the  youth 
of  the  parties. 

In  virtue  of  this,  the  young  couple  were  betrothed  in  June, 
1503,  at  the  house  of  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  in  Fleet-street ; 
and  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  Katharine,  although  she*  ob¬ 
jected  to  this  second  marriage,  her  “  distaste”  to  it  and  “  the 
inconvenience  ”  of  such  an  arrangement,  and  yielded  only  to 
the  policy  of  her  father,  nowhere  opposed  it  as  incestuous  or 
grievous  to  her  conscience,  as  she  would  probably  have  done, 
had  she  been  actually  and  in  the  fullest  sense  the  wife  of  Hen 
ry’s  brother. 

It  would  appear  that  her  mother,  Isabella  of  Castille,  i>,  some 
sort  shared  in  her  daughter’s  repugnance ;  for  she  would  not 
consent  until  she  had  obtained  a  breve,  or  authenticated  copy 
of  the  bull  of  dispensation,  which  she  afterward  contrived  to 
transmit  to  her  daughter,  who  had  it  in  her  possession  six-and 
twenty  f  years  afterward,  when  the  validity  of  her  marriage 
was  so  basely  and  brutally  called  in  question.  This  strange 
matter  did  not,  however,  end  here ;  for  three  years  later,  Eliz¬ 
abeth  of  York,  his  amiable  and  delicate  wife,  being  dead,  the 
old  tyrant,  Henry  VII.,  was  seized  with  an  idea  of  marrying 
Joanna,  Katharine’s  eldest  sister,  the  widow  of  Philip  the  Fair, 
and  heiress  of  the  throne  of  Castille,  and  actually  compelled  his 
son  Henry,  then  prince  of  Wales,  to  sign  a  protest  against  his 
marriage  with  Kathaiine,  on  the  ground  of  her  previous  alli¬ 
ance  with  his  brother.  This  document  was  signed  on  the  day 


*  Miss  Striokland,  vol.  li  p.  74. 

tLord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  p.  906,  quarto  ed.  of  1740.  “The  breve  was  only  a 
copy,  subscribed  and  signed  with  the  hand  of  Juan  Vergara,  a  canon  of  Toledo,  and 
public  notary  ailctoritat*  nposMica,  and  with  the  seals  of  Baltasar  Castiglione,  the 
pope's  nuncio,  and  the  Right  Reverend  Fattier  in  God,  Alfonso  di  Fonseca,  arch¬ 
bishop  of  Toledo.” 


52 


JIENRT  VII.  AND  JOANNA  OF  CASTILLE. 


previous  to  Henry's  entering  his  fifteenth  year,  but  the  inten¬ 
tions  of  his  father  in  regard  to  Joanna  being  frustrated  by  tne 
lady’s  insanity,  the  matter  was  hushed  up,  and  the  protest  so 
carefully  concealed,  that  it  may  be  held  certain  that  Katharine 
never  heard  of  it  until  many  years  afterward. 

It  is  to  this  fact  doubtless  that  Hume  alludes  when  he  says, 
“  the  prince  made  all  the  opposition  of  which  a  youth  of  twelve 
years  old  was  capable  ;  ”*  but  it  is  not  true  that  he  did  so,  for, 
on  the  contrary,  no  sooner  did  he  imagine  himself  to  be  de¬ 
barred  from  her  by  the  protest  which  he  had  signed,  than, 
^showing  already  the  waywardness  which  afterward  hardened  into 
the  wilful  and  iron  obstinacy  of  his  later  character,  the  young 
prince  made  such  efforts  to  obtain  her,  that  his  father  actually 
set  a  watch  on  him  to  prevent  his  having  clandestine  interviews 
with  his  betrothed. 

At  length,  Henry  VII.  being  unwillingly  convinced  of  Queen 
Joanna’s  hopeless  insanity,  abandoned  his  schemes  matrimo¬ 
nial,  which  Ferdinand,  to  do  him  justice,  had  from  the  first 
strenuously  opposed,  when  the  design  of  Henry’s,  the  prince  of 
Wales,  marriage  with  Katharine  was  renewed,  and  two  install¬ 
ments  of  her  dowry  were  paid  during  the  life  of  the  old  king. 
These  singular  and  disreputable  intrigues  were  only  recently 
cleared  up  by  Dr.  Lingard,f  who  from  consultation  of  the  Span¬ 
ish  authorities,  especially  Mariana,  has  explained  what  before 
appeared  inexplicable  in  the  conduct  of  Henry,  thus  at  one 
time  protesting  against  contracting  marriage  with  a  girl,  who 
did  not,  to  say  the  least,  desire  it,  and  then  eagerly  pressing 
the  same  alliance,  when  it  was  at  his  own  option  to  break  it. 
There  can  be,  however,  no  doubt  that  this  protest  was  the  cause 

*  Hume,  In  Henry  VII.,  vol.  iii.  p.  601,  Anno  1502. 

tLingard,  in  Henry  VII.,  vol.  vii.  p.  — 


HENRY'S  MARRIAGE  WITH  KATHARINE  OF  ARAGON.  53 

of  his  first  conceiving  the  idea,  in  after  years,  of  a  divorce  on  the 
pretext  of  undue  consanguinity. 

Immediately  after  his  father’s  death,  and  of  his  own  head, 
Henry  brought  up  the  matter  of  the  marriage,  declaring  to 
Fuensalida  that  “he  desired  and  loved  her  beyond  all  other- 
women.”*  A  deed  confirmatory  of  her  dowry  was  accord¬ 
ingly  signed  by  herself,  as  princess  of  Wales,  by  Fuensalida, 
as  Spanish  ambassador,  by  Ferdinand  as  king  of  Aragon,  and 
by  Joanna  as  queen  of  Castille,  June  7,  1509.  Her  marriage 
followed  a  few  days  afterward,  although  it  is  stated  by  Lord 
Herbert  of  Cherbury ,  to  have  occurred  on  the  third.  His  account 
is,  however,  clearly  set  aside  by  the  date  of  the  above  deed,  and 
by  the  circumstantial  account  of  Bernaldes,  the  Spanish  histo¬ 
rian.  “  Donna  Catalina,”  says  he,  “  wedded  the  brother  of  her 
first  lord,  who  was  called  Enrico  in  a  place  they  call  Grenuche” 
— Greenwich — “on  the  day  of  St.  Bernabo,” — June  11 — “and 
was  crowned  afterward  on  the  day  of  St.  John,  with  all  the  re¬ 
joicings  in  the  world.”f  Ferrara,  another  Spanish  historian, 
states  that  “  her  father,  King  Ferdinand,  was  so  well  pleased 
at  his  daughter’s  second  marriage,  that  he  celebrated  it  by 
grand  festivals  in  Spain,  particularly  by  the  jeu  des  Cannes ,  or 
Moorish  game  of  the  jerreed,  in  which  he  himself  bore  a  part.”J 
Katharine  was  at  this  time  very  beautiful,  in  the  Spanish 
style,  tall  and  of  stately  person,  with  a  profusion  of  magnifi¬ 
cent  black  hair.  “  There  were  few  women,”  is  the  testimony 
of  Lord  Herbert,  In  no  means  too  favorable  a  witness  on  her 
side,  as  confining  himself  to  statements  of  tacts  more  than  to 
the  offering  of  opinions,  “  who  could  compete  with  Queen  Kath- 

*  Cardinal  de  la  Pole,  Apol.  Kegis,  p.  86.  Quoted  by  Lingard,  vol.  vii.  p.  2. 

+  Bernaldes,  from  the  Middlehill  MS.  cap.  163,  §236.  Quoted  by  Miss  Strickland 

|  Ferrara,  Hist  Spain,  vol.  viii.  p.  384  Quoted  by  Miss  Strickland,  li  76. 


54  KATHARINE  INTERCEDES  FOR  EfclPSON  AND  DUDLEY. 


J- 


arine.”  It  should  be  observed  in  this  place  that  Warham, 
archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  chancellor  of  England,  did  ob¬ 
ject  in  council  to  the  celebration  of  this  marriage,  in  conse¬ 
quence  of  undue  affinity  of  the  parties,  but  Eox,  bishop  of  Win¬ 
chester,  urging  it  strongly  on  the  grounds  of  expediency,  the 
king  pressing  it  with  all  the  willful  headstrongness  of  his  pas¬ 
sionate  nature,  and  Katharine  asserting,  with  the  attestation  of 
several  noble  matrons,  that  her  marriage  with  Prince  Arthur 
never  had  been  consummated,  all  opposition  was  withdrawn, 
and  the  nuptials  were  performed  a9  above  stated,  with  a  pomp 
and  splendor,  on  which  I  shall  dwell  more  at  length  when  we 
come  to  treat  of  the  queens  in  detail. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  October,  following  her  wedding,  that 
the  young  queen  is  believed  by  her  intercession  to  have  pro¬ 
cured  a  respite  for  the  unhappy  men,  Empson  and  Dudley, 
though  guilty  of  no  crime  against  the  state,  which  Henry,  sat¬ 
isfied  with  the  confiscation  of  all  their  properties,  was  not  unwil¬ 
ling  to  grant 

During  the  following  summer,  however,  he  made  a  royal 
progress,  in  the  course  of  which  he  was  so  much  harassed  by 
the  petitions  of  his  subjects  for  redress  of  grievances,  and  for 
the  punishment  of  the  promoters,  that  it  seems  he  found  him¬ 
self  compelled  to  grant  them  satisfaction  on  one  score  or  the 
other.  When  the  question  lay  between  the  surrendering  his 
own  selfish  gratification,  or  sacrificing  two  innocent  men,  Henry 
VIII.,  even  in  his  virtuous  years  of  youth,  could  not  be. ex¬ 
pected  to  hesitate,  and  he  did  not. 

He  was  not  avaricious,  like  his  father,  he  did  not  value 
money  for  itself,  in  the  least,  but  he  desperately  loved  what 
money  alone  could  produce,  splendor,  luxury,  profusion,  pomp. 
His  masques,  his  revels,  his  banquets,  his  tournaments,  his  pro- 


henry’s  vanity  and  thirst  of  fame. 


55 


gresses,  were  already  making  inroads  on  the  hoarded  treasures 
of  his  father.  And  now  his  people  were  clamorous  for  his 
gold,  and  he  gave  them,  what  pleased  them  as  well,  and  suited 
himself  far  better,  blood. 

The  cry  was  hushed,  and  he  returned  to  his  pastimes,  pa¬ 
geantry,  and  pleasure.  For  two  years  the  court  of  England 
was  brilliant  with  one  continuous  display  of  masques, banquets, 
balls  by  night,  tournaments,  jousting,  and  fighting  at  the  bar¬ 
riers  with  sword  or  battle-ax  by  day,  in  the  presence  of  the 
queen  and  her  ladies,  who  dispensed  the  rewards  of  valor  to 
the  victors. 

Vanity  was  as  distinct  and  as  active  an  ingredient  as  either 
sensuality  or  selfishness,  in  the  character  of  Henry  VIII.  It  was 
moreover,  as  is  not  unusual,  the  first  to  develop  and  display 
itself  in  broad  colors,  for  both  sensuality  and  selfishness  re¬ 
quire  indulgence  and  nutriment,  whereby  to  grow  great,  and 
are  rarely  strongly  marked  in  the  young.  Henry’s  noble  stat¬ 
ure,  immense  power,  and  vigorous  activity,  in  his  earlier  years, 
before  his  limbs  grew  heavy  and  his  frame  obese,  gave  him 
surpassing  advantage  in  all  military  and  athletic  exercises; 
and  it  cannot  be  doubted  that,  in  all  that  pertained  to  the  use 
of  weapons,  the  management  of  horses,  the  personal  skill  of 
the  knight,  he  was  a  consummate  man-at-arms.  Proud,  young 
and  strong,  he  was  brave  by  concurrence  of  natural  endow¬ 
ments,  as  by  the  necessities  of  blood  and  birth.  To  do  him 
but  bare  justice,  he  was  every  inch  a  man. 

And  he  was  now  burning  to  display  his  manhood  in  some 
wider  and  more  glorious  field  than  in  the  tiltyard  at  Westmin¬ 
ster,  or  the  barriers  at  Greenwich.  He  was  afire  to  equal  tne 
honors  of  the  living  house  of  Tudor  to  the  glories  of  the  dead 
Plantagenets — his  daily  dream  was  the  recovery  of  the  French 


56 


STATE  OF  EUROPE. 


provinces,  lost  so  ingloriously  in  the  reign  of  the  sixth  mon 
arch  of  his  own  name,  and  a  participation  in  the  renown  of 
Henry  of  Agincourt,  and  his  own  gigantic  grandsire,  Edward 
the  Fourth,  of  York.  He  waited  an  occasion  only,  and  one 
was  soon  made  to  his  hands.  Julius  11.,  a  wise,  politic,  and 
warlike  prince,  who,  although  far  advanced  into  the  winter  of 
life,  was  still  actuated  by  the  fire  and  ambition  of  youth,  filled 
the  chair  of  St.  Peter ;  Maximilian  represented  the  authority 
of  the  imperial  Caesars  in  Germany ;  Louis  XII.  wore  the 
crown  of  France,  at  length  united  into  one  compact  and  power¬ 
ful  kingdom ;  Ferdinand,  on  the  throne  of  Castille,  had  laid  firm 
the  foundations  of  that  vast  and  terrible  Spanish  monarchy, 
which,  although  now  sunk  into  hopeless  decadence,  for  so  many 
centuries  overshadowed  Europe  with  the  awe  of  her  invincible 
valor  and  the  horror  of  her  bloody  superstition.  Unhappy 
Italy,  then  as  now,  partitioned  among  many  powers,  enslaved 
and  oppressed  by  all,  was  the  bone  of  contention  among  the 
nations.  t 

The  rich  diadem  of  Naples,  or  the  two  Sicilies,  wras  an  ap 
panage  of  the  Spanish  crown  in  the  south.  On  the  north, 
Louis  XII.  had  wrested  the  splendid  duchy  of  Milan  from  the 
arms  of  Ludovico  Sforza.  On  the  north-east,  the  V enetians, 
proud,  grasping,  warlike,  mercantile  republicans,  the  European 
prototypes,  in  many  respects,  of  the  United  States  of  America, 
late  the  bulwark  of  Europe  against  the  victorious  power  of  the 
Ottoman,  had  encroached  on  the  Adriatic  shores  of  Italy,  and 
severed  the  northern  part  of  the  Romagna  from  the  church 
On  these  encroaching  islanders  the  warrior  pope  first  declared 
war;  and,  having  speedily  reduced  them  to  sue  for  peace, 
granted  it,  as  he  affected  to  say,  at  the  instances  of  Henry  VIII. 
*t  was  not.  however,  the  Venetians,  but  the  French,  of  whrm 


THE  FRENCH  IN  ITALY. 


57 


he  was  jealous ,  and,  the  war  in  the  Adriatic  regions  com¬ 
posed,  his  ulter.or  views  were  speedily  developed  by  his  inva¬ 
sion  of  the  territories  of  Alphonso,  duke  of  Ferrara,  a  vassal 
of  the  Holy  See,  on  pretext  of  some  violation  of  his  feudal 
rights. 

Louis  XII.  not  deceived  by  the  pretense,  and  perceiving  that 
in  his  attachment  to  France  lay  the  real  offense  of  Alphonso, 
succored  him  with  his  army  from  the  Milanese,  under  Chau- 
mont,  who  soon  compelled  the  pope  to  evacuate  the  domin¬ 
ions  of  Ferrara,  shut  him  up  in  Bologna,  and  besieged  him  in 
that  city,  without  any  declaration  of  war.  Ohaumont  was 
forced,  thereafter,  to  retire  by  the  arrival  of  Colonna  at  the 
head  of  a  body  of  Spanish  horse,  and  being  beaten  back  into 
the  Milanese,  is  said  to  have  died  of  a  broken  heart.  Jn  the 
succeeding  spring,  however,  the  French  arms  resumed  their 
supremacy  ;  the  citadel  of  Bologna  was  stormed;  Julius  was 
forced  to  seek  safety  in  Ravenna,  and  a  general  appeal  was 
made  to  all  Christian  Europe  to  sustain  the  holy  church  against 
the  insolent  aggressions  of  the  French  ;  who,  it  was  asserted, 
had  causelessly  attacked  the  estates  of  the  church,  insulted  the 
person  of  the  pontiff,  and,  having  conquered  Milan,  now  aimed 
at  adding  to  those  unjustly  acquired  domains  the  hereditary 
possessions  of  the  church. 

Europe,  already  alarmed  at  the  extension  of  the  French 
power  and  dominions,  was  rudely  startled  at  the  call.  An  al¬ 
liance,  offensive  and  defensive,  was  concluded  between  Venice 
and  Rome ;  Maximilian  affected,  indeed,  for  a  while,  to  hesi¬ 
tate;  but  Ferdinand  took  arms  at  once,  and  Henry,  urged  by 
vanity,  ambition,  and  the  hope  of  reconquering  the  Anglo- 
French  provinces,  solicited  moreover  by  his  fathe.  in-law,  and 
gratified  by  the  pontiff  with  the  title  c"  “  Head  of  the  Italian 
C* 


58 


THE  ENGLI8H  FLEET. 


League,”  eagerly  declared  for  the  church.  The  emperor  of 
Germany  soon  afterward  joined  the  league,  and  all  parties  pre¬ 
pared  earnestly  for  instant  war. 

It  was  agreed  that  Ferdinand  and  Henry  should  at  once  in 
vade  Guienne  from  the  side  of  the  Pyrenees,  England  furnish 
ing  six  thousand  five  hundred  men,  and  Spain  nine  thousand, 
for  this  purpose ;  while,  for  the  protection  of  the  channel,  each 
power  should  keep  a  squadron  afloat,  manned  with  three  thou¬ 
sand  mariners  and  artillerists.  On  the  third  day  of  June, 
1512,  Clarencieux,  king-at-arms,  having  demanded  the  restitu 
tion  of  the  ancient  patrimony  of  the  English  crown  in  France, 
and  received  a  solemn  refusal,  denounced  war ;  and  on  the 
same  day  the  Earl  of  Dorset  sailed,  with  the  English  army  on 
board  Spanish  transports,  for  the  coast  of  Guipuscoa ;  while 
the  Lord  Admiral  Sir  Edward  Howard  cruised  between  Spain 
and  England,  during  the  summer,  with  the  fleet. 

This  consisted — and  it  is  not  incurious  in  these  days  of  co¬ 
lossal  armaments,  to  observe  what  three  hundred  years  ago 
was  considered  a  vast  naval  equipment — of  eighteen  ships.  The 
greater  part,  as  was  usual  in  those  days,  were  merchantmen, 
hired  into  the  service  and  fitted  for  war,  as  best  might  be,  for 
the  time.  Of  these,  the  largest  ship,  the  “  Regent,”  was  royal 
property,  of  one  thousand  tons  burden,  commanded  by  Sir 
Thomas  Knyvett,  with  a  crew  of  seven  hundred  mariners,  gun 
ne^-s,  and  soldiers.  The  other  seventeen  vessels,  varying  from 
five  hundred  to  one  hundred  ton3,  had  a  complement  of  seven¬ 
teen  captains,  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers,  and  twelve 
hundred  and  thirty-three  gunners  and  mariners  ;  of  whom  the 
lord  admiral  received  ten  shillings  a  day  ;  the  captains,  eighteen 
pence ;  and  all  the  others  ten  shilli  tgs  by  the  lunar  month, 


FAILURE  OF  THE  CAMPAIGN  OF  1512. 


59 


one  half  for  wages,  and  the  other  for  provisions.*  These  ar¬ 
maments,  however,  were  wholly  unsuccessful.  Ferdinand  re¬ 
fused  to  accede  to  Dorset’s  desire  of  invading  Guienne  by  way 
of  the  passes  of  Fontarabia,  until  the  kingdom  of  Navarre, 
which  was  in  the  possession  of  Jean  d’Albret,  a  vassal  of  France 
for  the  principality  of  Bearn,  and  known  to  be  in  strict  allegi¬ 
ance  with  that  monarch,  should  be  reduced,  and  its  fortresses 
occupied  by  the  Spanish  forces.  When  this  end  was  accom¬ 
plished,  and,  the  Spanish  army  having  advanced  to  St.  Jean 
Pie  de  port,  the  invasion  of  Guienne  was  proposed  in  earnest, 
Dorset,  whose  army,  lying  inactive  at  Fontarabia,  had  been 
attacked  by  disease  and  infected  by  a  spirit  of  mutiny,  utterly 
refused  to  stir ;  alleging  his  distrust  of  the  king,  and  the  ne¬ 
cessity  of  adhering  to  the  strictest  letter  of  his  instructions. 
Six  weeks  of  dissension  and  recrimination  followed  ;  disease 
and  discontent  increased,  and  Lord  Dorset  returned  home  with 
all  his  forces,  just  before  Windsor,  the  herald,  arrived  with  the 
king’s  commands  that  he  should  remain,  and  obey  the  orders 
of  the  Spanish  monarch.  $- 

Henry  was  seriously  and  justly  aggrieved.  He  had  fully 
reckoned  on  me  recovery  of  Guienne;  but,  as  is  usually  the 
case  when  England  is  acting  in  alliance  with  continental  pow¬ 
ers,  he  had  as  his  lot  the  losses,  mortifications,  and  expenses, 
while  his  allies  and  enemies  divided  the  advantages. 

Ferdinand  conquered  the  kingdom  of  Navarre ;  Louis  seized 
the  principality  of  Bearn ;  both  of  which  provinces  belong,  to 
this  day,  to  the  successor  of  the  monarchs  who  conquered 
them.  Jean  d’Albret  lost  the  whole  of  his  dominions,  the 
French  king  having  entered  on  a  composition  with  Ferdinand, 
though  he  made  a  show  of  succoring  Navarre,  by  sending  a 

•Eymer  xtll,  818  to  819.  Quottfd  by  I.tngvd,  rl.  t>. 


GO  CONFLAGRATION  OF  THE  “  REGENT.” 

force — under  Richard  de  la  Pole,  titular  duke  of  SulYolk,  wht 
had  been,  since  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  a  political  exile  in 
France,  and  who  was  now  guilty  of  the  frantic  folly  of  ieviving 
the  party  of  “the  White  Rose,”  against  the  house  of  Tudor — 
to  the  relief  of  Parapeluna.  The  expedition  failed,  if,  indeed, 
it  was  ever  intended  to  succeed.  Jean  d’Albret  fell  to  the 
ground  between  the  two  great  kingdoms,  which  absorbed  his 
small  dominions.  Louis  and  Ferdinand  satisfied  themselves 
with  securing  their  new  conquests.  Henry  VIII.  saw  his  army 
return  to  England,  after  an  idle  and  inglorious  campaign,  weak¬ 
ened  by  the  loss  of  nearly  three  thousand  men,*  who  perished 
without  drawing  a  sword,  by  the  malignant  fevers  of  the  coun¬ 
try,  stimulated  by  excess  in  the  hot  wines  of  Spain.  The  folly 
of  Richard  de  la  Pole  hi  taking  service  under  the  French,  and 
reviving  an  unfounded  and  unsupported  claim  to  the  English 
crown,  had  no  result  beyond  the  death  of  his  brother  Edmund, 
earl  of  Suffolk,  who  had  remained,  since  the  late  king's  death, 
a  prisoner  in  the  tower,  and  was  shortly  afterward  brought  to 
the  block,  chiefly,  it  would  seem,  on  account  of  his  brother’s 
treason. 

The  fortune  of  the  English  fleet  was  in  no  wise  superior,  du¬ 
ring  this  campaign,  to  that  of  the  army  ;  for,  having  fallen  iu 
with  a  powerful  French  squadron  off  Brest,  a  naval  engagement 
ensued,  in  the  course  of  which  the  desperate  courage  of  Kny- 
vett  having  involved  the  great  ship,  “  Regent,”  in  the  midst  of 
the  enemy,  he  was  grappled  by  Primauget,  the  French  com¬ 
mander,  in  a  yet  greater  ship,  the  “  Cordelier  de  Brest,”  when 
both  vessels  taking  fire,  were  utterly  consumed  with  all  their 
crews,  a  few  of  the  enemy  alone  excepted,  who  made  their  es 
cape  by  swimming.  The  French  declined  further  action,  and 

♦Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  23. 


CAPTURE  OP  SCOTCH  VESSELS. 


61 

found  refuge  under  the  batteries  of  Brest ;  but  the  loss  of  the 
“Regent”  was  regarded  an  event  so  disastrous  that  it  was  con¬ 
cealed  from  the  public,  until  the  king  had  supplied  its  loss  by 
the  construction  of  a  yet  larger  vessel,  which  he  named  “  Henry 
Grace  Dieu,”  but  which  is  familiarly  known  to  this  day  as 
the  “  Great  Harry,”  the  largest  ship  in  the  world,  of  those 
days. 

I  should  have  observed  that  in  the  preceding  yeaiyl51 1,  two 
events  had  occurred,  both  of  which,  although  neither  of  much 
immediate  importance,  had  some  influence  on  the  future  cir¬ 
cumstance  of  this  remarkable  reign. 

The  first  of  these  was  the  delivery  of  Queen  Katharine,  on  • 
the  first  day  of  the  year,  of  a  son,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  father, 
and  among  the  general  rejoicings  of  the  nation.  The  happi¬ 
ness,  however,  of  both  king  and  people  proved  to  be  prema¬ 
ture  ;  for  the  child  died  before  the  month  closed,  and  his  fate 
seemed  to  be  in  some  sort  prophetic ;  since  out  of  several 
births  no  heir  male  was  spared  to  Henry,  who  earnestly  de¬ 
sired  one,  nor  did  any  other  child  survive  of  this  marriage,  ex¬ 
cept  the  Princess  Mary,  afterward  queen,  who  was  born  on 
February  18,  1516. 

The  second  was  the  capture  and  destruction,  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Thames,  by  the  Lord  Thomas  and  Sir  Edward  Howard, 
of  a  Scottish  squadron,  commanded  by  three  brothers  named 
Barton,  the  bravest  and  most  experienced  officers  of  James  IV. 
These  brothers,  it  appears,  had,  in  1506,  received  letters  of 
marque  and  reprisals  against  the  Portuguese,  who  had,  they 
alleged,  above  thirty  years  before,  captured  a  merchant  vessel 
of  their  father’s.  Not  content,  however,  with  revenging  them- 
selves  on  their  legitimate  enemies,  from  privateering  they 
turned  to  piracy,  and  committed  such  violences  on  English 


62 


RISE  OF  WOLSEY. 


commerce,  that  the  king  issued  orders  for  their  capture ;  and 
the  destruction  of  their  vessels  was  followed  by  hostilities  with 
Scotland,  which  took  advantage  of  the  continuance  of  the  war 
with  France,  to  lend  aid  to  her  old  ally,  and  plant  a  thorn  in 
the  side  of  her  border  enemy. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Thomas  Wolsey,  a  man  of  in 
ferior  birth,  but  of  parts,  energy,  capacity,  and  ambition  equal 
only  to  the  elevation  to  which  he  afterward  rose,  and  to  the 
depth  of  his  downfall  and  disgrace,  began  to  acquire  the  great 
ascendency  over  the  king,  which  he  so  long  enjoyed. 

The  son,  it  is  said,  though  to  me  the  report  seems  doubtful, 
of  a  butcher  in  Ipswich,  he  had  become  chaplain  of  the  house¬ 
hold,  almoner,  and,  at  last,  one  of  the  counselors  of  the  late 
king ;  and  in  the  latter  quality  displayed  so  much  prompt  abil¬ 
ity,  that  his  farther  rise  was,  it  is  supposed,  prevented  only  by 
the  death  of  the  monarch.  His  learning  first  recommended 
him  to  Henry  VIII.,  himself  both  erudite  and  proud  of  his  eru 
dition,  nor  unwilling,  at  times,  to  mix  in  literary  disquisitions, 
and  to  busy  himself  earnestly  in  the  affairs  of  the  realm.  His 
rare  tact  in  adapting  himself  to  the  humors  of  his  patron,  his  wil¬ 
lingness  to  join  in  his  Tevelries,  his  jovialities,  his  pleasures,  and 
his  pomps,  his  ready  wit,  profuse  liberality,  and  art  in  “making 
his  private  house  a  theatre  for  all  manner  of  pleasures,  whither 
he  frequently  brought  the  king,’1*  endeared  him  yet  farther  to 
the  magnificent  and  pleasure-loving  prince.  And  finally  his 
artifice  of  introducing  business  in  the  midst  of  pleasure,  indu¬ 
cing  the  monarch  to  give  just  so  much  of  attention  to  its  trans¬ 
action,  at  hours  when  he  would  fain  have  been  otherwise  em¬ 
ployed,  as  should  suffice  to  disgust  him  with  it,  and  then  re¬ 
lieving  him  of  the  unwelcome  burthen,  succeeded  in  raising 


Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbnry,  p.  80. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  RAVENNA. 


ua 

him  to  the  highest  place  of  trust,  to  the  absolute  confidence  of 
Henry,  and,  in  fact,  to  the  supreme  conduct  of  the  affairs  of 
England. 

In  the  meantime,  if  Henry’s  interference  in  the  a  (fairs  of  Eu 
rope  had  produced  no  advantages  to  himself,  it  was  far  other¬ 
wise  with  the  league  ;  to  which  the  powerful  diversion,  effected 
by  the  presence  of  his  troops  on  the  southern  frontier  of  France, 
his  threatened  invasion  of  Guienne,  and  the  necessity  imposed 
on  Louis  of  keeping  a  large  force  on  foot  to  hold  him  in  check, 
secured  the  advantage. 

Although,  in  the  outset  of  the  campaign,  French  valor  and 
impetuosity  carried  all  before  it  in  Italy;  though  a  thunder¬ 
stroke  at  Ravenna  fell  on  the  Spanish  and  Papal  forces ;  and 
though  that  city  was  carried  by  storm — reverses  ill-coinpen. 
sated  by  the  loss  of  ten  thousand  men  and  their  gallant  leader, 
Gaston  de  Foix,  to  the  victors  —  the  armies  of  Louis  were 
forced,  step  by  step,  to  fall  back  into  the  Milanese;  were 
routed,  one  fourth  of  their  numbers  being  slain  on  the  Tesino  ; 
and  were,  before  Christmas,  driven  in  confusion  across  the 
mountains;  so  that  the  boast  of  the  pope  was  fulfilled  to  the 
letter,  that  he  was  “  resolute  to  chase  the  last  barbarian  beyond 
the  Alps.” 

During  the  winter,  finding  himself  unable  to  cope  with  the 
united  league  in  arms,  Louis  XII.  had  now  recourse  to  finesse, 
and  fortune  favored  him.  Julius,  the  ambitious  and  warrior- 
pope,  was  gathered  to  his  predecessors,  and  Giovanni  di  Medicis, 
who  was  elected  in  his  stead  under  the  title  of  Leo  X.,  though 
he  did  not  avowedly  secede  from  his  engagement  with  the  allies, 
at  least  ceased  to  exert  himself  actively  in  a  cause  which,  it  is 
said*  ho  never  seriously  approved.  Ferdinand  of  Spain,  a 


Llng&rd,  Hist.  Eng.  Henry  VIII. 


64 


PROSECUTION  OF  THE  WAR,  1513. 


crafty,  politic,  and  never  too  trustworthy  prince,  was  easily  ii 
dueed  to  abstain  from  active  operations,  and  to  remain  neulral 
while  the  Venetians,  who  had  of  late  been  engaged  on  the  R( 
man  party,  were  enabled  by  Leo’s  lukewarmness  to  seced 
from  the  allies,  and  make  common  cause  with  Louis. 

Henry,  however,  was  only  incensed  by  this  defection,  and 
rendered  more  resolute  to  persist;  the  Swiss  had  engaged  to 
second  him  by  an  irruption  into  Burgundy  ;  the  Emperor 
Maximilian,  whom  he  had  subsidized  with  one  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  crowns,*  had  promised  to  second  the  Swiss, 
with  eight  thousand  Germans ;  the  people  of  England  were 
strenuous  for  the  prosecution  of  l  he  war,  and  granted  him  an 
ample  sum  to  be  raised  by  rigorous  taxation ;  f  and,  thus  en¬ 
couraged,  he  determined  to  take  the  field  in  person,  and  re¬ 
conquer  the  lost  inheritance  of  the  kings,  his  predecessors. 

The  war  commenced  with  naval  operations,  in  the  month  of 
\pril,  when  the  admiral,  Sir  Edward  Howard,  sailed  in  quest 


*  flume,  Hist.  Eng.  ill.  96. 

t  This  tax  was  fixed  after  the  following  rate— Rolls  xxvl-xxvii. 
£  s  d 


A.  duke . 6  18  4 

Marquess  or  earl,  and  wives,  .  4  0  0 

Baron,  baronet,^  and  baroness,  2  0  0 
Knights  not  lords  of  parliament,  1  10  0 
Proprietors  of  lands  above  £40, 
yearly  value,  .  .  .  .10  0 

From  £20  to  £40,  .  .  .  0  In  0 

From  £10  to  £20,  .  .  .0  5  0 

From  £2  to  £10,  .  .  .020 

Below  £2,  .  .  .  0  10 

Possessors  of  £S00,  personals,  .  2  13  4 
From  £400  to  £800,  .  .  .  2  0  0 


Possessors  of  personal  property, 
from  £200  to  £400, 

From  £100  to  £200, 

From  £40  to  £100,  .  '  . 

From  £20  to  £40,  . 

From  £10  to  £20, 

From  £2  to  £10, 

Laborers  and  servants  with  wages 
of  £2  yearly,  .... 
From  $1  to  $2, 

All  other  persons, 


£  s  d 


1  6  S 
0  13  4 
0  6  8 
0  3  4 
0  16 
0  1  U 


1  0 
0  6 
0  4 


Quoted  by  Lingard,  vi.  14. 


JFrotn  these  rates  it  appears  that  the  old  distinction  between  greater  and  lesser 
barons  was  not  yet  abolished.  They  are  called  barons  and  baronets,  and  are  consul 
ered  equally  as  lords  of  parliament, — I.higard. 

The  above  rate  is  very  curious,  as  showing  the  comparative  value  of  money  ;  and 
also  the  comparative  poverty  of  the  greatest  peors ;  a  duke  being  taxed  only  as  an 
nvner  of  personals  to  the  value  of  about  £200. 


DEATH  OF  THE  LORD  ADMIRAL. 


65 


of  the  enemy,  having  sworn,  it  seems,  to  avenge  the  loss  of  the 
Regent,  or  to  die  in  the  attempt.  The  French  fleet,  it  seems, 
lay  in  Brest  harbor,  and  refused,  though  insulted  by  the  En¬ 
glish  squadron,  to  come  out  and  engage,  expecting  daily  to  be 
relieved  by  Prejent,  a  knight  of  Rhodes,  with  six  galleys.  An 
attempt  was  made  to  attack  the  enemy  at  their  moorings,  but 
it  failed  altogther,  one  ship,  the  “  Plantagenet,”  being  cast  away 
on  a  blind  roc.k,  and  the  rest  of  the  squadron  compelled  to  haul 
off,  by  the  fire  of  the  batteries,  as  well  as  by  rafts  and  fire¬ 
ships,  which  were  prepared  to  drift  down  with  the  tide  on  the 
English  ships. 

Meanwhile,  Prejent  arrived  with  six  galleys  and  four  foysts,* 
and  put  into  Blanc  Sablon  Bay ,  near  Conquet,  a  little  below 
Brest,  and  moored  his  vessels  between  two  rocks,  which  had 
bulwarks  on  them,  full  of  ordnance.  From  this  strong  position 
the  lord  admiral  determined  to  cut  them  out ;  and,  attacking 
them  with  four  galleys,  himself  grappled  Prejent  and  boarded 
him  in  person,  one  Carroz ,  a  Spanish  cavalier,  and  seventeen 
Englishmen  following  him.  Whether,  however,  the  grapnels 
parted,  or  the  mariners,  overpowered  by  the  fire  of  the  enemy’s 
batteries,  cut  them  loose,  the  brave  Sir  Edward  was  left  un¬ 
supported,  and  was,  in  the  end,  after  casting  his  golden  whistle, 
the  insignia  of  his  office  as  lord  admiral,  into  the  sea,  borne 
overboard,  by  the  pikes  of  the  French,  into  the  waves,  where  he 
perished  unknown  to  his  adversaries. 

Dejected  and  disconcerted  by  this  loss,  the  English  fleet  re¬ 
treated  iuto  its  own  harbors,  and  Prejent  insulted  the  coasts  of 
Sussex,  and  even  landed  on  them  ;  fait  was  repulsed  with  the 
loss  of  an  eye,  extinguished  by  an  arrow  shot,  and  of  some  of 
his  men.  This  appears  to  have  contented  him,  or  probably  the 


*  IIorbeTt  of  Cherbury,  fol.  29. 


66 


EXECUTION  OF  THE  EARL  OF  SUFFOLK. 


* 


English  squadrons  were  so  strongly  reinforced,  Lord  Thomas 
Howard  being  now  appointed  admiral  in  lieu  of  his  brother, 
that  he  could  no  longer  keep  the  seas  against  them.  At  all 
events,  he  made  no  more  head  that  year,  but  returned  to  his 
own  ports,  leaving  the  mastery  of  the  narrow  seas  to  the  Lord 
Howard,  who  scoured  them  effectually  and  secured  the  debar¬ 
kation  of  the  invading  forces  at  Calais. 

Wolsey  was  now  fully  admitted  as  prime  minister  of  the 
kingdom,  and  to  him  it  was,  doubtless,  in  some  sort,  due  that 
the  parliament  agreed,  though  not  without  opposition,  to  the 
departure  of  the  king  in  person,  at  the  head  of  the  army  of  in¬ 
vasion,  to  the  victualing  of  which  Wolsey  had  been  appointed, 
not  without  some  sarcasm  on  his  origin.  The  objections  of 
the  parliament  were  founded  on  the  fact,  that  the  king  had  as 
yet  no  heirs  male ;  that  his  sister  Margaret,  wife  of  James  IV. 
of  Scotland,  was  the  next  in  the  line  of  succession ;  and  that, 
in  case  of  any  disaster  befalling  Henry  and  his  forces,  the 
realm  would  probably  be  again  thrown  into  confusion  by  the 
rivalry  of  divers  competitors  for  the  crown. 

The  king’s  ambition  of  glory  was  not,  however,  to  be  ie- 
strained;  and  by  the  aid  and  arguments  of  Wolsey  the  scru¬ 
ples  of  the  parliament  were  overcome,  and  the  army  was  em¬ 
barked  for  Calais.  It  was,  however,  deemed  expedient,  in  or¬ 
der  to  secure  the  peace  of  the  kingdom  and  remove  a  danger¬ 
ous  competitor,  to  bring  the  unfortunate  earl  of  Suffolk,  Ed¬ 
mund  de  la  Pole,  to  the  block  ;  and  he  was  accordingly  execu 
ted,  under  Henry’s  warrant,  in  the  tower. 

This  unhappy  nobleman,  who  was  the  nephew  of  Edward 
A7.,  being  son  of  John  de  la  Pole,  duke  of  Suffolk,  by  that 
king’s  sister,  Elizabeth,  and  consequently  nearly  connected  to 
Henry,  had,  through  his  intrigues  against  the  late  king,  and 


EXECUTION  OF  THE  EARL  OF  SUFFOLK. 


67 


the  ill  favor  in  which  he  stood  with  hjs  court,  been  induced  to 
take  refuge  in  Burgundy,  then  under  the  rule  of  Philip  of  Pas¬ 
tille.  From  that  monarch,  who  was  forced  by  stress  of  weather 
to  land  on  the  English  coast,  while  on  his  way  to  his  Spanish 
kingdom,  which  he  had  inherited  in  right  of  his  wife,  Joanna, 
llenry  VII.  had  extorted  the  surrender  of  Suifolk  ;  and,  though 
at  Philip’s  inlercessionjie^  spared  his  life,  he  had  kept  him  in 
close  confinement  in  the  tower,  where  he  had  continued  to  this 
moment. 

It  is  said  that  the  late  king  on  his  death-bed  had  earnestly 
advised  Henry  to  this  act  of  cruelty,  no  farther  legal  process 
being  requisite,  as  he  had  been  already  attainted  by  the  peers ; 
but  it  appears  to  me  improbable — as  it  is  evidently  doubted 
by  the  elder  historians — that  this  was  the  true  or  sole  cause 
of  his  being  now,  after  the  lapse  of  four  years  since  the  old 
king’s  death,  brought  to  the  block,  without  farther  cause  of 
suspicion. 

Edmund  de  la  Pole  was  himself,  it  is  clear,  a  man  of  bold 
and  turbulent  spirit ;  one  of  his  brothers,  the  Earl  of  Lincoln, 
had  fallen  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Stoke,  supporting  the  cause 
of  the  impostor,  Lambert  Simnel;  another,  now  in  arms  for 
the  French  king,  had  revived  the  fiction  of  York,  and  set  up 
the  rival  emblem  of  “  the  White  Rose;”  and,  whether  it  be 
true  or  no,  as  Henry’s  ambassadors  were  ordered  to  allege  at 
the  courts  to  which  they  were  accredited,  that  a  treasonable 
correspondence  had  been  discovered  between  the  brothers,  it 
is  clear  to  me  that  jealousy  of  his  pretensions,  apprehensions 
of  the  popular  good  will  to  the  house  of  York,  and  a  well- 
founded  dread  of  disturbances  during  the  absence,  or  in  case 
of  the  demise, of  the  king,  led  to  this  execution.  Policy  cer 
tainlv  commended  the  measure ;  strict  justice,  as  it  was  then 


6S 


INVASION  OF  FRANCE. 


understood,  did  not  forbid  it ;  and  Henry,  even  in  his  yet  un 
perverted  youth,  was  not  one  to  be  deterred  by  a  little  blood, 
shed  on  grounds  even  more  questionable  than  this  of  Suffolk, 
from  securing  his  ease,  much  moie  his  security,  and  the  succes¬ 
sion  to  his  throne. 

Suffolk  died,  therefore,  cruelly  enough,  but  not  probably  so 
innocent  as  has  been  pretended  by  some  writers,  and  certainly 
not  without  warrant  of  law. 

The  vanguard  of  England  now  sailed  for  Calais,  consisting 
of  eight  thousand  men,  under  George  Talbot,  earl  of  Shrews¬ 
bury,  the  high  steward,  Thomas  Stanley,  earl  of  Derby,  Sir 
Robert  Ratcliffe,  the  Lord  Fitzwater,  the  Lord  Hastings,  the 
Lord  Cobham,  and  Sir  Rice  ap  Thomas,  the  captain  of  the 
light  horse.  These  landed  in  the  English  pale,  in  the  middle 
of  the  month  of  May,  and  were  followed  within  fifteen  days 
by  Herbert,  the  lord  chamberlain,  with  the  Earls  of  North¬ 
umberland,  Kent  and  Wiltshire,  the  Lords  Audley  and  De-la- 
warr,  the  Barons  Carrow  and  Curzon,  and  many  knights  and 
esquires,  in  command  of  the  middleward,  or  centre,  consisting 
of  six  thousand  men.  On  the  17th  of  June,  by  the  king’s  or¬ 
ders,  these  forces  marched  in  good  order  of  battle  to  Terou- 
enne,  where  they  arrived  on  the  22d,  and  sat  down  at  about 
one  mile’s  distance  before  the  town,  which  “  was  fenced  with  a 
large  ditch,  strong  bulwarks,  and  a  quantity  of  ordnance,  which 
shot  freshly,  insomuch  that  the  Baron  of  Carrow,  master  of  the 
ordnance,  was  the  first  night  killed  by  a  bullet  in  the  Lord  Her¬ 
bert’s  tent,  which  came  so  near  him,  that  the  French,  though 
erroneously,  write  that  he  was  slain  there.”* 

Terouenne  was  garrisoned  by  about  two  thousand  foot,  and 


*  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  38  et  seq from  whom  most  of  the  following  do- 
tails  are  taken 


SIEGE  OF  TEROUENNE. 


09 


two  hundred  and  fifty  lances,  commanded  by  Mons.  Fran¬ 
cois  de  Teligny,  and  Anthoine  de  Crequy,  seigneur  de  Pondor- 
my,  and  was  at  once  invested  by  Shrewsbury  on  the  north-west, 
and  Herbert  on  the  east  side  of  the  place,  whence  they  made 
their  approaches  with  such  vigor  that  it  was  soon  evident,  that 
unless  relieved,  the  town  must  ere  long  surrender.  A  power¬ 
ful  army  was  now  raised  by  the  French  for  this  purpose,  re¬ 
inforced  by  ten  thousand  men  under  the  Duke  of  Guelders,and  six 
thousand  under  Richard  de  la  Pole,  brother  of  Edmund,  who 
had  been  recently  beheaded;  but  they  moved  slowly  and  with 
hesitation,  for  Louis,  when  he  had  advanced  so  far  as  to  Amiens, 
received  intelligence  of  the  defeat  of  his  armies  at  Novara,  in 
Italy,  and  of  the  irruption  of  the  Swiss,  supported  by  three 
thousand  German  horse  of  the  emperor’s,  into  Burgundy, 
where  they  had  laid  siege  to  Dijon,  and,  alarmed  by  the  news 
and  humbled  by  the  disaster,  resolved,  with  the  advice  of  his 
counsel,  not  to  risk  a  battle,  but  merely  to  endeavor  to  pro¬ 
tract  the  siege,  and  try  the  effect  of  negotiation. 

At  length,  in  the  end  of  June,  Henry  set  sail  in  person,  hav¬ 
ing  before  his  departure  appointed  “his  most  dear  consort* 
queen  Katharine,  rectrix  and  governor  of  the  realm,”  and  left 
the  Earl  of  Surrey  as  his  lieutenant  in  the  north,  to  protect 
the  borders  against  James,  who  was  openly  arming,  and  in 
avowed  alliance  with  France. 

Four  hundred  sail  of  transports  conveyed  the  young  and 
daring  monarch,  accompanied  by  his  new  almoner  and  favor¬ 
ite,  Wolsey,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Sir  Charles  Brandon, 
recently  created  Earl  of  Lisle,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  Sir  Edward 
Poynings,  Sir  Henry  Guilford,  bearer  of  the  royal  standard,  and 


Kymer  xiii.  870,  372.  Quoted  by  Lingard,  Hist.  Eng.,  Henry  VIII.,  vol  vi.  15 


70 


HENRY  SITS  DOWN  BEFORE  TEROUENNE. 


many  more,  the  flower  of  the  English  chivalry  and  aristocracy, 
with  about  twelve  thousand  men,  a  powerful  wagon  train,  and 
a  strong  park  of  great  ordnance,  among  which  were  the  famous 
pieces  known  as  the  “  twelve  apostles.” 

For  nearly  a  month  Henry  lingered  in  Calais,  where  he 
was  visited  by  the  ambassadors  of  the  emperor,  by  the  Duke 
of  Brunswick,  and  the  regent  of  Flanders,  wasting  his  time 
and  a  portion  of  the  treasures  destined  to  the  maintenance  of 
his  army  and  the  prosecution  of  the  war,  in  carousals,  enter¬ 
tainments,  pageants  and  pomps  of  all  kinds,  in  which  he  ever 
took  so  much  delight. 

At  length,  hearing  that  the  French  were  in  motion  to  relieve 
Terouenne,  he  moved  his  army  on  the  21st  of  July,  and  had 
barely  advanced  so  far  as  to  Ardres,  when  it  was  announced 
that  the  enemy’s  outposts  were  in  view.  Hereupon,  Sir  Rice 
ap  Thomas,  who  had  ridden  forth  with  about  five  hundred  light 
horse  to  meet  the  king,  reinforced  by  the  Earl  of  Essex  and 
Sir  Thomas  Guilford,  with  a  detachment  of  horse  archers,  ad¬ 
vanced  and  drove  them  .back,  though  two  English  guns  were 
lost,  one  of  which  was  recovered  on  the  following  day,  after  a 
sharp  skirmish. 

On  the  4th  of  August,  Henry  pitched  a  sumptuous  pavillion 
for  himself  under  the  walls  of  Terouenne,  and  made  prepara¬ 
tions  to  receive  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  who  was  on  his  way 
to  join  him  with  a  few  German  and  Flemish  soldiers,  and  to 
make  his  excuses  for  that  he  had  failed  of  furnishing  the  Swit¬ 
zers  with  his  full  complement  of  men.  About  the  same  time, 
Lyon,  the  Scottish  king  at  arms,  made  his  appearance  in  the 
camp  and  was  introduced  to  the  king  by  Garter,  king  at  arms, 
as  bearer  of  a  letter  from  James  IV.,  containing  expostulations 
for  pretended  injuries,  and  a  denunciation  of  war  in  case  satis- 


HENRY  DEFIES  JAMES  OF  SCOTLAND. 


7) 


faction  should  be  refused.  Henry,  at  first,  delivered  a  sharp, 
verbal  reply,  but  Lyon  refusing  to  be  the  bearer  of  any  answer 
by  word  of  mouth,  afterward  indited  a  letter,  in  which  he 
plainly  declared,  that  he  was  aware  of  his  intent,  which  was 
merely  to  pick  a  quarrel,  with  a  view  to  aid  the  French  king, 
and  to  invade  his  dominions  in  his  absence;  warned  him  to  take 
heed  lest  he  shared  the  fate  of  Jean  d’Albret  of  Navarre,  who 
had  lost  his  crown  for  aiding  Louis  in  like  manner,  and  conclu¬ 
ded  by  saying  that  he  had  left  a  stout  earl  in  the  north,  who 
would  well  know  how  to  defend  his  master’s  cause  in  his  mas¬ 
ter’s  absence,  and  assuring  him  that  “  what  he  did  to  him  or  his 
realm  now  he  was  absent,  would  be  remembered  and  requited 
again  in  like  measure.”* 

This  letter,  however,  James  was  never  destined  to  receive  ; 
for,  before  his  herald  could  return,  he  had  invaded  England, 
and  falling,  with  the  flower  of  his  kingdom’s  chivalry,  had  lost 
crown  and  life  together,  on  the  fatal  field  of  Flodden. 

Terouenne  had  not,  up  to  this  time,  been  completely  invested ; 
and  a  French  leader,  De  Fonterailles,  taking  advantage  of  the 
unfinished  state  of  the  lines  on  the  side  of  the  river  Lys,  broke 
through  them  at  the  head  of  eight  hundred  Albanian  horse, 
each  of  whom  carried  a  sack  of  gunpowder  and  two  quarters 
of  bacon,  en  croupe ,  and  throwing  down  the  supplies  thus  boldly 
introduced  at  the  gates  of  the  town,  brought  off  his  men  in 
safety,  before  the  English  could  muster  sufficient  force  under 
arms  to  intercept  him. 

On  the  12th  of  August  Maximilian  arrived  in  camp,  and  as 
he  brought  no  considerable  power  with  him,  assumed  the  red 
cross  of  St.  George,  and  asked  permission  to  serve  as  Henry’s 


*  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  85. 


72 


BATTLE  OF  THE  SPURS. 


volunteer,  which  flattered  Henry’s  pride  to  such  a  degree,  that 
beside  assigning  to  the  Imperial  private  pay  of  a  hundred  crowns 
a  day,  and  erecting  a  splendid  pavilion  of  cloth  of  gold  for  his 
entertainment,  he  entirely  overlooked  his  failure  to  fulfill  his 
engagements  of  cooperation,  and  deferred  so  much  to  his  ad¬ 
vice,  that  he  was  in  fact  the  real  commander  of  the  combined 
armies. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival,  Henry  caused  five  bridges  to  be 
thrown  across  the  Lys,  and  on  the  16th  he  crossed  the  river 
't’h  Maximilian  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the 


Scarcely  were  they  across  the  river,  when  the  light  horse 
announced  the  approach  of  the  French  in  force,  who  embold¬ 
ened,  it  would  seem,  by  their  late  success,  intended  to  renew 
the  attempt  on  a  larger  scale.  Under  the  Dukes  of  Longue- 
ville  and  d’Alencon,  the  French  army,  consisting  principally 
of  cavalry,  which  had  been  collected  at  Blangy,  divided  into 
two  parties,  advanced  on  the  two  sides  of  the  Lys,  when  Heni’y, 
by  the  advice  of  his  imperial  volunteer,  who  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  country,  and  had  already  twice  beaten  the  French  on 
nearly  the  same  ground,  determined  to  give  them  battle. 

Maximilian  accordingly  advanced  with  a  few  squadrons  of 
German  horse,  and  the  horse  archers  of  the  English,*  while 
Henry  mustered  the  infantry  and  brought  it  up  to  support  the 
cavalry  ;  but  the  main  body  of  the  troops  had  no  opportunity 
to  distinguish  themselves,  for  an  event  ensued  equally  unex¬ 
pected  and  incomprehensible.  The  French  gendarmerie,  oon- 

i?  It  is  uot  clear  what  this  arm  of  the  service  was.  The  terrible  English  longbow 
of  six  feet  in  length,  with  its  clothyard  arrows,  was  incompatible  with  horse  service. 
These  men  were  probably  mounted  only  on  tho  march,  for  speed,  but  fought 
»n  foot 


SURRENDER  OF  TEROUENNE. 


73 


listing  entirely  of  gentlemen  at  the  head  of  their  feudal  retain¬ 
ers,  inured  to  service  in  the  Italian  campaigns,  during  which 
they  had  covered  themselves  with  glory,  and  acquired  the  rep¬ 
utation  of  being  the  best  cavalry  in  Europe,  constituting  a  body 
of  ten  thousand  incomparable  horse,  gave  way  at  the  first  shock 
of  the  advanced  guards.  The  panic  spread  from  man  to  man, 
through  the  whole  force,  their  officers,  laboring  to  rally  them, 
were  abandoned  to  the  pursuers,  and,  for  above  four  miles, 
they  fled  in  headlong  rout  and  consternation  before  three 
,.tr.ASs  of  German  reiters  and  a  few  hundreds  of  English  light 
!i| |HP>,  not  equal  to  a  tithe  of  their  own  numbers,  who  had  ex¬ 
ecution  of  them  through  the  whole  distance,  and  made  prison¬ 
ers  of  many,  the  proudest  names  in  France  and  most  celebra¬ 
ted  knights  in  Europe.  Hymbercourt  and  La  Palisse  were 
taken,  but  either  escaped  in  the  confusion  of  the  melee,  or,  as 
some  say,  were  admitted  to  ransom  and  released  on  the  in 
stant ;  but  the  Duke  de  Longueville,  the  Marquis  de  Rotelin, 
the  Chevalier  Bayard,  Bussy  d’Amboise,  La  Fayette,  and 
Clermont  were  secured,  and  presented  by  their  captors  to 
Henry  and  the  emperor,  when  the  latter  returned,  still  wear¬ 
ing  the  red  cross  badge  of  England,  and  greeted  his  nominal 
commander  as  victor  of  the  day.  No  better  fortune  befell  the 
enemy  in  other  quarters  of  the  field  ;  for  a  detachment,  which 
had  endeavored  to  intercept  an  English  convoy  between  Guisnes 
»nd  Terouenne,  was  routed  with  great  loss,  and  its  com¬ 
mander,  Mons.  du  Plessis,  slain.  In  the  meantime,  the  French 
horse,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Lys,  which  had  beat  up  the 
Earl  of  Shrewsbury’s  quarters,  with  a  view  to  introduce  suc¬ 
cors  and  to  reprovision  the  town,  were  met  by  Sir  Rice  ap 
Thomas,  with  a  sharp  sally,  and  forced  to  retreat,  having  ef¬ 
fected  nothing ;  while  a  sortie,  en  masse ,  of  the  garrison  and 


D 


74 


ENTRANCE  OF  THE  ALLIES  INTO  TEROUBNNE. 


townsmen,  intended  as  a  diversion  in  the  opposite  quarter,  was 
anticipated  by  Lord  Herbert,  who  had  his  men  under  arms 
and  well  in  hand  to  receive  them,  and  beaten  in  again  more 
quickly  than  they  had  sallied. 

This  was  the  famous  battle  of  Guinegate,  better  known  as 
the  “  Battle  of  the  Spurs,”  as  it  was  termed  by  the  French, 
equally  prompt  to  ridicule  their  own  and  their  enemies’  mis¬ 
adventures,  on  which  rested  all  the  small  glory  which  accrued 
to  Henry  from  this  unprofitable  war,  barren  of  all  advantage 
beyond  che  capture  of  two  frontier  towns,  wholly  unimp 


unless  as  a  basis  for  future  operations.  A  Te  Deum  was  per¬ 
formed  in  honor  of  this  easy  victory,  and,  a  few  days  afterward, 
the  Seigneur  de  Pondormy,  despairing  of  relief,  surrendered 
the  place  with  all  its  ordnance  to  the  king,  on  condition  that 
he  should  march  out  with  bag  and  baggage,  drums  beating 
and  colors  flying.  And  this  he  did  on  the  24th  of  August,, 
when  the  allies  entered  the  place,  Maximilian  still  yielding  the 
precedence  to  the  English  monarch,  who,  at  his  solicitation, 
caused  the  whole  town,  with  its  fortifications,  defences,  and 
even  its  private  dwellings,  to  be  razed  to  the  ground,  nothing 
being  excepted  but  the  churches  and  religious  houses.  This, 
although  it  nearly  adjoined  the  English  pale,  and  might  have 
been  maintained  at  no  great  cost,  because  it  bordered  so  closely 
on  Maximilian’s  territory  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  so  greatly 
straitened  his  cities  of  Aire  and  St.  Omar,  that,  should  it  at 
any  time  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  French,  it  would  be  a  se¬ 
vere  thorn  in  his  side?  France  was  at  this  moment  in  the 
most  imminent  peril.  No  similar  dangers  had  beset  her  since 
the  dark  days  of  Poictiers.  Henry  was  at  the  head  of  a  pow¬ 
erful,  complete,  and  victorious  army,  with  but  a  few  days’ 
inarch,  and  no  covering  army, between  himself  and  the  gates 


INVESTMENT  OF  TOURNAY. 


75 


of  Paris.  The  chivalry  of  the  kingdom,  dispersed  and  disor¬ 
ganized  by  their  late  disgrace,  could  not  be  rallied  to  defend 
the  capital,  many  of  the  inhabitants  of  which  were  beginning  to 
dislodge,  without  knowing  whither  to  resort  for  greater  secu 
rity.  The  Swiss  were  besieging  Dijon,  which  could  not  be  re¬ 
lieved,  nor  could  be  expected  long  to  resist  their  assaults. 
Ferdinand  of  Spain,  though  he  had  made  a  truce  with  Louis, 
could  be  depended  on  by  him,  so  long  only  as  his  interests 
should  be  subserved  by  neutrality. 

Louis  was  in  the  extremity  of  consternation  and  perplexity, 
not  knowing  whither  to  turn  for  assistance,  when  the  blunder¬ 
ing  strategy,  and  yet  more  blundering  diplomacy,  of  his  ene¬ 
mies  liberated  him  from  all  anxiety. 

Henry,  who  could,  beyond  doubt,  have  marched  almost  un¬ 
opposed  to  the  gates  of  Paris,  and  perhaps  have  there  dictated 
a  peace,  turned  aside  to  invest  Tournay,  a  French  town, 
strongly  fortified,  within  the  limits  of  the  Spanish  Nether¬ 
lands,  affording  to  its  possessors,  for  the  time  being,  the  key  of 
either  country. 

To  Spain,  therefore,  as  owning  the  Low  Countries,  and  to 
France,  the  possession  of  this  fortress  was  of  primary  impor¬ 
tance,  since  either  nation  must  necessarily  occupy  it  before  ad-, 
vancing  into  the  territories  of  the  other,  in  order  to  strike  a 
telling  blow. 

To  England,  it  must,  under  any  circumstances,  be  worthless, 
even  while  that  country  held  the  fortress  and  seaport  of  Calais, 
with  the  adjoining  district  within  the  English  pale,  since  it  is 
so  remote,  even  from  that  frontier,  as  to  render  its  occupation, 
except  by  an  enormous  garrison,  impossible  in  peace,  and  in  war 
altogether  hopeless. 

It  was  nothing  short,  therefore,  of  absolute  folly  in  Ilenry, 


76 


TIDINGS  OF  FLODDEN  FIELD. 


to  suffer  himself  to  be  turned  aside  from  the  true  object  of  the 
war  to  this  vain  and  useless  enterprise ;  Maximilian,  however, 
whose  interests  were  nearly  concerned,  as  they  had  been  in 
the.  razing  of  Terouenne,  persuaded  him  to  the  undertaking, 
which  was  begun  and  completed  with  equal  facility.  On  his 
way  thither,  Henry  tarried,  however,  three  days  at  Lisle,  at 
the  instance  of  the  Archduchess  Margaret,  the  regent  of  Flan¬ 
ders,  and  of  his  nephew,  the  Prince  Charles  of  Spain,  nephew  of 
his  own  royal  consort  Katharine.  Fast  flew  those  three  days  of 
revelry  and  merry-making,  and  scarce  less  fast  the  eight  of 
open  trenches,  which  only,  after  sending  a  bold  and  chivalrous 
defiance  in  reply  to  the  king’s  summons  to  surrender,  the  flit 
burghers  of  Tournay  endured,  before  yielding  themselves  on 
base  conditions.  They  accepted  an  English  garrison,  swore 
fealty  to  Henry,  and  paid  down  for  the  expenses  of  the  war, 
fifty  thousand  crowns  of  the  sun  in  one  sum,  agreeing  to  pay 
forty  thousand  livres  Tournois,  by  instalments,  within  the  ten 
years  next  ensuing. 

There,  on  the  very  day  of  the  surrender  of  the  city,  being 
September  21st,  came  to  the  king  a  messenger  from  the  Earl 
of  Surrey,  bearing  the  tidings  of  the  decisive  battle  of  Flodden 
Field,  wTith,  as  a  token  of  its  truth,  the  gauntlet  and  coat  ar¬ 
mor  of  the  unfortunate  James,  who  fell  there,  in  an  unjust 
quarrel,  though  with  a  gallantry  well  worth  a  better  cause, 
with  all  the  flower  of  his  realm.  The  battle  was  fierce,  terri¬ 
ble,  and  well  contested,  and  had,  in  truth,  well  nigh  gone  against 
the  English,  as  indeed  it  must  have  done,  but  for  the  skillful 
strategy  of  the  Eail  of  Surrey,  and  the  chivalrous  daring  of 
his  officers.  ^ 

In  the  commencement,  the  Scottish  had  so  much  the  advan 
tage  of  position,  which  they  appeared  resolute  to  keep,  that 


THE  BATTLE  OF  FLODDEN  FIELD. 


77 


the  defeat  of  the  English  seemed  inevitable,  until,  by  a  skillful 
movement,'  at  the  advice,  it  is  said,  of  his  son,  Lord  Thomas 
Howard,  the  high  admiral,  Surrey  crossed  the  river  Till  to  its 
right  bank,  and  having  executed  a  long  (lank  march,  as  if  with 
a  view  to  giving  the  enemy  the  slip  and  penetrating  into  Scot¬ 
land,  recrossed  it  by  Twisel  bridge,  in  the  rear  of  the  Scottish 
camp,  and  advanced  as  if  to  assault  the  king’s  lines. 

James,  alarmed  by  this  demonstration,  fired  his  camp  on  the 
hill  to  conceal  his  movements,  and  covered  by  the  smoke  of 
the  conflagration,  broke  down  in  five  solid  phalanxes  of  spears, 
the  favorite  Scottish  order  of  battle,  upon  his  enemies,  who 
scarce  saw,  before  they  felt,  his  columns.  The  conflict  was 
stern  and  doubtful.  The  right  wing  of  the  English,  under  Sir 
Edmund  Howard,  was  broken,  its  banners  beaten  down  and  its 
commander  unhorsed,  by  the  desperate  onset  of  Lord  Home, 
with  his  serried  spearmen ;  but  the  battle  was  restored  by  the 
bastard  of  Heron  with  a  band  of  border  outlaws,  and  the  strife 
closed  again  dark  and  dubious,  until  Lord  Dacre  with  the  re¬ 
serve  of  fifteen  hundred  lances,  charged  home  on  the  flank  of 
the  Scottish  pikes,  and  finished  the  struggle  in  that  quarter  by 
putting  the  enemy  to  a  precipitate  rout.  Next,  toward  the 
centre,  the  admiral  wras  long  oppressed  by  the  stern  charge  of 
the  Earls  of  Huntley,  Errol  and  Crawford,  with  a  dense  mass 
of  seven  thousand  Scots,  probably  Highlanders,  on  whom  he 
could  make  no  impression,  till  at  length,  when  their  chiefs  were 
slain,  they  wavered  and  were  thrown  into  confusion.  In  the 
centre,  Surrey  had  to  sustain  the  steady  and  sustained  attack 
of  James  himself,  who  fought  on  foot  at  the  head  of  the  flower' 
of  his  army,  all  cased  in  complete  steel,  on  whom  the  fatal  hail 
of  the  English  archery  was  showered  almost  in  vain. 

Foot  by  foot,  animated  by  the  presence  of  their  king,  bear 


78 


THE  CRISIS  OF  THE  DAT. 


ing  down  all  before  them,  onward  and  onward  pressed  the  nr. 
broken  iron  lines  of  that  mighty  column,  which,  like  the  fa- 
mous  Macedonian  phalanx  of  old,  could  be  shaken  by  no  front 
attack,  however  fiery  or  persistent.  In  vain  Surrey  exhausted 
all  his  efforts  to  resist  them.  Resolute  to  win,  ignorant  how 
the  day  went  in  other  quarters,  aud  confident  of  victory,  they 
bore  onward,  onward — they  were  within  three  spears’  length 
of  the  royal  banner,  and  Surrey  looked  abroad  for  who  should 
rescue  it,  and  saw  none.  For,  on  the  right,  the  dreadful  con¬ 
test,  which  the  admiral’s  division  had  endured,  was  not  yet  so 
far  decided  that  he  could  detach  a  man  to  relieve  the  centre, 
and  on  the  left  all  seemed  wild  and  inextricable  confusion. 
From  the  left,  however,  the  succor  was  to  come  which  should 
convert  that  half-lost  battle  into  an  almost  unexampled  vic¬ 
tory,  the  saddest  day  for  Scotland,  bewailed  by  her  border 
bards  in  those  sweet  laments  which  still  survive,  complaining 
in  their  simple  pathos  that  “  the  flowers  of  the  forest  are  a’  wede 
away.” 

For  there  fought  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  with  the  Cheshire  men 
hardened  in  the  Welch  wars,  and  the  famous  Kendal  archery, 
and  there  the  column  of  Argyle  and  Lennox,  whose  tartan 
plaids  could  not  brook  the  clothyard  arrows  like  the  steel  coats 
of  the  Lothianers  and  Mersemen,  opened  its  ranks,  unable  to 
endure  the  murderous  volleys  of  the  Westmoreland  bowmen, 
and  “  therein  seemed  to  give  one  of  the  first  overtures  of  vic¬ 
tory.”*  Their  confusion  was  completed  by  a  charge  of  three 
companies  of  men-at-arms,  when  Stanley,  by  a  general  ad¬ 
vance,  drove  them  over  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  and  wheeling 
promptly  and  in  good  order  to  his  right,  fell  on  the  flank  and 


*  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbnry,  fob  40. 


THE  CARNAGE  AT  FJLODDEN. 


79 


mar  of  the  king’s  yet  unbroken  column.  That  gallant  mon¬ 
arch  fell  by  an  unknown  hand  within  a  spear’s  length  of  Surrey, 
but  his  death  was  not  known  at  the  time  to  either  paity. 
Once  checked  in  its  forward  career,  that  great  solid  mass  of 
spears,  like  the  Roman  army  at  Cannae,  like  the  mighty  En¬ 
glish  square  at  Eontenoy,  like  the  thundering  column  of  Lan- 
nes  at  Aspem,  like  the  young  guard  of  Ney  at  Waterloo,  was 
hemmed  in  on  all  sides,  and,  though  it  fought  to  the  last,  un¬ 
daunted,  neither  giving  nor  receiving  quarter,  was,  ere  the  sun 
set,  annihilated.  From  the  right,  at  last  victorious  over  their 
immediate  adversaries,  in  rushed  Sir  Edmund  and  the  admiral ; 
in  rushed,  with  his  bloody  lances,  Dacre  and  the  reserve,  which 
had  already  carried  all  before  them  and  restored  the  day,  when 
the  Blanche  Lion  of  the  Howards  reeled  to  the  blows  of  the 
Scottish  Unicorn.  Yet  still  outnumbered  and  surrounded,  the 
stubborn  hardihood  of  Scotland  endured  to  the  last.  Forming, 
when  all  was  lost,  a  huge  serried  circle,  they  long  resisted  all 
attempts  to  break  them,  and  were  at  last  crushed,  not  con¬ 
quered,  for  until  darkness  closed  over  that  dreadful  scene, 


“Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well, 

Each  stepping  in  his  neighbor's  place, 

The  moment  that  he  fell.”* 

In  the  account  of  the  lord  admiral,  the  whole  Scottish  force 
is  roundly  stated  at  eighty  thousand  men ;  but  it  is  probable 
that  of  these  nearly  thirty  thousand  were  a  mere  rabble  of 
camp  followers,  and  that  Lord  Herbert  states  the  king’s  power 
more  truly  at  fifty  thousand.  The  battle  began  between  four 
and  five  in  the  afternoon,  and  lasted,  according  to  the  last  au- 


*Blr  Witter  Scott,,  Marmion. 


80 


THE  CARNAGE  AT  FLODDEN. 


thor,  nearly  three  hours,  which  made,  he  says,  “  the  event  doubt¬ 
ful  and  the  execution  great.”  Night,  which  came  on  ere  the 
action  was  well  over,  and  the  want  of  cavalry  on  the  part  of 
the  English,  who  seem  to  have  had  no  horse,  except  Dacre’s 
reserve  of  fifteen  hundred  lauces  on  the  right,  and  a  few  squad¬ 
rons  of  men-at-arms  on  the  left,  put  an  early  end  to  the  pur¬ 
suit;  but  in  the  conflict  itself,  so  bloody  were  the  hand-to-hand 
encounters  of  those  days,  ten  thousand  Scots  were  left  dead 
on  the  field,  while  of  the  victors,  no  less  than  five  thousand 
were  slain. 

On  the  following  morning,  however,  the  results  of  that 
bloody  action  were  more  easy  to  be  perceived ;  of  the  English 
dead,  the  great  part  were  persons  of  small  note,  and  no  one  in¬ 
dividual  of  high  celebrity  had  fallen.  Of  the  Scottish,  on  the 
contrary,  beside  the  king,  who  was  found  where  he  had  fallen, 
with  two  wounds,  either  of  them  mortal,  the  one  of  an  arrow- 
shot,  the  other  the  fearful  gash  of  a  brownbill,  all  the  flower 
of  the  nobility  lay  there,  cold  in  their  gore.  The  illegitimate 
son  of  James,  titular  archbishop  of  St  Andrews,  two  bishops, 
two  abbots,  twelve  earls,  thirteen  barons,  five  eldest  sons  of 
barons,  and  fifty  gentlemen,  knights  of  lineage  and  distinction, 
were  among  the  slain.  All  the  ordnance,  consisting  of  seven¬ 
teen  brass  pieces,  “  the  best  fashioned,  with  the  smallest  touch- 
holes,  and  the  finest  for  their  length  and  calibre,”  according  to 
the  lord  admiral’s  statement ,*  “  which  he  had  ever  seen,”  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  conquerors,  and  among  them  “  seven  ex¬ 
traordinary  fair  culverins,|  called  the  seven  sisters.” 

On  the  receipt  of  this  news,  which,  it  appears,  was  brought 

*  Letter  of  Lord  Thomas  Howard,  preserved  in  the  Herald’s  offlce.  Pinkerton. 
Appendix.,  vol.  ii.,  456.  Quoted  by  Lingard,  vi.,  25. 

tLord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  41. 


CAPITULATION  OF  TOURNAY. 


81 


to  him  on  the  very  day  in  which  Tournay  capitulated,  Henry 
either  felt,  or  affected  to  feel,  compassion  and  regret  for  his 
brother-in-law,  no  less  than  satisfaction  at  the  success  of  his 
arms,  and  the  safety  of  his  kingdom;  ‘‘It  put  him  in  mind,” 
says  Lord  Herbert,  “of  the  vicissitude  of  all  earthly  things.” 
Nevertheless,  he  caused  the  Te  Deurn  to  be  performed  ;  and 
the  Bishop  of  Rochester  preached  before  him,  laving  the  whole 
blame  of  the  late  occurrences  on  the  unhappy  James,  who  un¬ 
doubtedly  had  atoned  for  his  false  policy  with  his  blood,  though, 
for  a  long  time,  his  subjects  believed  that  he  had  escaped  from 
the  carnage  of  the  field,  and,  according  to  one  legend,  betaken 
himself  to  the  Holy  Land,  while  another,  equally  unfounded, 
asserts  that  he  was  murdered  in  Home  Castle,  after  the  battle. 

With  the  siege  of  Tournay  the  active  operations  of  this  cam¬ 
paign  ended;  for  on  the  real  cooperation  of  Ferdinand  no  re¬ 
liance  was  to  be  placed ;  and  the  Swiss  had  suffered  them¬ 
selves  to  be  deceived  into  a  separate  negotiation  with  La  Tre- 
mouille,  governor  of  Burgundy ;  who,  having  no  authority  to 
treat,  and  knowing  well  that  Louis  would  disavow  all  his  pro¬ 
ceedings,  cared  not  what  terms  he  promised,  so  that  he  could 
purchase  their  retreat. 

It  was  determined  by  the  council,  in  which  Wolsey  is  said 
to  have  played  the  principal  part,  that,  notwithstanding  its  dis¬ 
tance  from  the  English  frontier,  and  the  difficulty,  not  to  say 
impossibility,  of  supporting  it,  Tournay  should  be  retained 
and  garrisoned — and  this,  though,  among  the  reasons  given  for 
dismantling  Terouenne,  the  very  arguments  were  adduced, 
which  did  apply  to  Tournay,  although  not  to  the  place  in  ques¬ 
tion.  The  whole  case -of  Wolsey  is,  however,  involved  in  so 
much  difficulty  by  the  furious  animosities  of  the  times,  and  the 
manifest  partiality  of  ali  the  writers,  pro  or  co«,  who  have 
L*  a 


82 


POLICY  OF  WOLSEY. 


treated  of  his  extraordinary  career,  that  it  is  necessary  to  use 
the  utmost  discretion  before  pronouncing  judgment  on  his 
measures.  In  this  case,  he  had  certainly  private  interests  to 
be  served ;  and  no  part  of  his  career  shows  him  superior  to 
these,  as  personal  aggrandizement  and  the  means  of  personal 
splendor  and  ostentation  seem  to  have  been  hardly  less  his  ob¬ 
jects  than  the  advancement  of  the  monarch,  and  the  extension 
of  the  church,  to  which  he  belonged. 

Tournay  was  a  city,  even  then,  of  eighty  thousand  inhabi¬ 
tants,  one  of  the  richest  in  Europe ;  it  was  also  the  seat  of  a 
wealthy  bishopric,  and  to  this,  with  the  consent  of  the  pope, 
Wolsey  was  incontinently  advanced.  It  may  be  that  this  was 
the  cause  of  his  advocating  the  retention  of  the  city  ;  it  may 
be,  however,  that  it  was  only  his  reward.  For  Henry  was 
himself  desirous  of  retaining  the  trophy  of  his  expensive  and 
showy  campaign,  and  the  emperor  would  of  course  support  his 
arguments  The  whole  policy  of  Wolsey,  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end  of  his  career,  was  founded  on  the  maintenance  of  the 
balance  of  European  power  between  the  emperor  of  Germany 
and  the  king  of  France,  and  the  preserving  to  England  the  post 
of  arbiter  between  the  two. 

However  well  conceived,  his  plan,  nevertheless,  was  not 
well  carried  out ;  as  he  was  constantly  vacillating  between 
the  two  powers,  as  the  fortunes  of  either  seemed  to  ascend  in 
the  scale ;  so  that,  constantly  involving  his  country  in  dam¬ 
aging  and  expensive  alliances,  he  materially  aided  neither  party, 
and  But  partially  attained  the  object  at  which  he  aimed,  at  the 
expense  of  men,  money,  and  consistency  ;  when,  by  a  resolute 
attitude  and  inflexible  policy,  he  might  probably  have  preserved 
the  peace  of  Europe  without  striking  a  blow. 

Still,  for  the  time,  his  pobey  was  sincere ;  and,  being  at  this 


FESTIVITIES  AT  TOURNAY  AND  LISLE. 


83 


moment  engaged  wholly  on  the  imperial  or  Spanish  side  of  the 
question,  he  probably  believed  in  the  force  of  the  arguments 
which  he  produced.  These  were,  in  brief,  that,  by  razing  the 
defences  of  Terouenne,  he  had  made  the  emperor  his  fast  friend 
forever — that  it  must  ever  be  the  policy  of  that  prince  to  keep 
Tournay  out  of  the  hands  of  France,  so  that  he  was  bound 
both  by  interest  and  policy  to  support  its  garrison,  as  against 
a  coup  de  mala  of  the  French.  •  On  the  other  side,  should  a 
rupture  occur  with  Spain,  France,  he  argued,  would  of  neces- 
cessity  become  the  ally  of  England,  and  would  necessarily  prefer, 
also,  to  see  Tournay  an  English  rather  than  a  Spanish  garrison. 

Arguments  are  easily  found,  when  it  is  desirable  to  find 
them ;  and  he  who  desires  to  be  convinced  is  not  hard  of  con¬ 
viction.  The  entry  of  the  victors  into  Tournay  was  celebra¬ 
ted  by  festivities  of  all  kinds,  the  most  fanciful  and  gorgeous. 
Margaret  of  Burgundy  was  invited,  with  her  ladies,  and  Prince 
Charles  of  Castille,  to  share  the  king’s  hospitality,  in  requital 
of  that  she  had  extended  to  him  at  Lisle.  A  contract  of  mar¬ 
riage  had  existed  between  Charles  and  Henry’s  beautiful  sister, 
Mary,  since  the  time  of  the  late  king,  although  the  bridegroom 
was  several  years  younger  than  the  lovely  lady ;  and  this 
match  was,  for  the  present,  farther  confirmed  between  them ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  overtures  were  made  for  a  union  be¬ 
tween  the  gay  and  gallant  Charles  Brandon,  Lord  Lisle,  the 
king’s  especial  favorite,  and  the  Princess  Margaret ;  “  which, 
though  it  took  no  effect,  was  not  yet  without  much  demon '..‘ra¬ 
tion  of  outward  grace  and  favor  on  her  part.”*  In  honor  of 
the  princess  and  her  ladies,  who  were  right  royally  enterteinad, 
for  many  days  in  succession,  the  king  and  emperor,  as  asscci- 
ates,  did  hold  a  solemn  justs  against  all  comers,  which  they 

*  Lord  Herbert  of  Clierbury,  fol.  8T. 


84 


NEGOTIATIONS  AT  TOURNAY. 


performed  valiantly  and  successfully  ;  and  on  the  return  c  f  the 
ladies,  the  royal  hosts  became  in  turn  the  guests,  accompanying 
their  fair  inviters  back  to  Lisle.  There  the  Princess  Margaret 
“  caused  a  justs  to  be  held  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  the 
place  being  a  large  room,  raised  high  from  the  ground  by 
many  steps,  and  paved  with  black,  square  stones  like  marble ; 
while  the  horses,  to  prevent  noise  or  sliding,  were  shod  with 
felt  or  flocks  ;  after  which  the  lords  and  ladies  danced  all 
night.”* 

These  jollities,  however,  as  they  are  termed  by  the  noble 
author,  quoted  above,  appear  to  have  had  a  meaning  and  pur¬ 
pose  less  frivolous  than  mere  amusement  or  ostentation,  being 
in  fact  devised  in  order  to  account  for  a  concourse  of  illustrious 
persons,  and  to  conceal  a  scheme  of  negotiation  for  the  farther 
maintenance  of  the  war.  This,  it  appears,  was  set  on  foot  by 
Ferdinand  of  Castille,  who  had  been  from  the  first  the  chief  in¬ 
stigator  of  the  war,  as  he  had  chiefly  profited  by  it ;  and  who 
now,  learning  that  military  operations  were  at  an  end  for  this 
season,  sent  envoys,  Pedro  de  Orrea,  Juan  de  la  Nuca,  and 
Gabriel  de  Orti,  to  Henry  VIII.,  with  commission  to  treat  for 
a  league,  by  which  both  kings,  with  the  emperor,  should  enter 
France  the  next  spring.  In  virtue  of  this  treaty,  it  was  agreed, 
that  Ferdinand  should  invade  Guienne,  from  the  kingdom  of 
Navarre,  with  seventeen  thousand  of  his  own  subjects,  to  be 
maintained  at  his  own  cost,  and  six  thousand  Germans  at  the 
expense  of  Henry,  and  that  the  war  should  be  made  in  the 
king  of  England’s  name,  and  for  the  recovery  of  his  patrimony 
of  Guienne.  On  the  other  side,  Henry,  assisted  by  Maxi¬ 
milian,  was  bound  to  attack  Normandy  or  Picardy  with  twenty 
thousand  r  len  ;  and  the  pope,  the  prince,  the  archduke,  the 

*  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  87. 


SIGNING  OF  THE  LEAGUE. 


85 


Duke  of  Milan,  the  Swiss,  and  the  Florentines,  were  all  to  be 


invited  to  join  in  this  common  league  against  the  aggressive 
power  of  France. 

On  the  17th  of  October,  this  treaty  was  signed,  at  Lisle,  by 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester  and  the  Marquis  of  Dorset,  for  the 
king;  by  the  Seigneur  de  Bergues,  and  Gerard  de  Pleine, 
president  of  the  council,  for  the  emperor ;  and  by  Pedro  de 
Orrea,  Don  Lewis  Carroz,  and  Juan  de  la  Nuca,  for  Ferdinand. 
But,  notwithstanding  the  great  expectations  from  this  grand 
combination  of  princes,  potentates,  and  powers,  it  was  "found, 
in  the  end,  as  is  apt  to  be  the  case,  where  many  parties  are 
united  against  one,  with  no  connecting  link  beyond  a  tempo¬ 
rary  combination  of  selfish  and  perhaps  really  conflicting  inter: 
ests,  that,  for  all  its  stability  or  real  value,  this  solemn  league 
might  as  well  have  been  engrossed  on  the  sea  sand,  as  on  the 
parchment,  which  was  the  most  enduring  portion  of  the  doc 
ument.  However,  it  gave  great  satisfaction  for  the  moment ; 
and  Henry  returned,  by  way  of  Calais,  to  his  own  dominions, 
where  he  shortly  afterward  rejoined  his  queen  at  Richmond  ; 
and  there,  amid  great  festivities  and  rejoicings  over  his  boot¬ 
less  and  barren  conquests,  and  great  preparations  for  his  in¬ 
tended  campaign  of  the  next  spring,  he  bestowed  high  honors 
and  rewaids  on  those  whom  he  considered  to  have  deservea 
well  at  his  hands  during  the  war. 


X 


To  Thomas,  earl  of  Surrey,  the  victor  of  Flodden,  he  re¬ 
stored  the  title  of  Duke  of  Norfolk,  of  which  his  father  had 
been  deprived,  for  adherence  to  Richard  III.  Lord  Thomas 
Howard,  his  son,  was  created  earl  of  Surrey  ;  Sir  Charles 
Brandon,  earl  of  Lisle,  was  raised  to  the  dukedom  of  Suffolk ; 
while  Sir  Charles  Somerset,  who  wras  also  Lord  Herbert  of 
Chepstow,  Gower,  and  Raglan,  in  right  of  his  wife,  Elizabeth. 


86 


DISRUPTION  OP  THE  LEAGUE. 


daughter  of  William  Herbert,  earl  of  Huntingdon,  was  created 
Earl  of  Worcester ;  and  Sir  Edward  Stanley  was  made  Lora 
Mounteagle.  Beside  this,  a  great  number  of  gentlemen  were 
made  knights  and  bannerets,  and  Thomas  Wolsey,  bishop  of 
Tournav,  was  elevated  to  the  diocese  of  Lincolu. 

In  the  course  of  this  winter,  however,  it  was  made  known 
to  the  king,  by  Louis  of  Orleans,  duke  of  Longueville,  who 
was  a  prisoner  in  England  since  the  battle  of  the  Spurs,  that 
the  pope  and  Ferdinand  of  Spain  had  both  abandoned  the 
league,  the  former  revoking  all  his  former  censures  against 
France,  and  the  latter  consenting  to  a  prolongation  of  the  ex¬ 
isting  armistice  for  twelve  months,  as  the  price  of  his  confirma¬ 
tion,  in  permanence,  in  his  title  to  Navarre.  Maximilian  was 
also  seduced  from  his  fidelity  to  Henry,  by  the  bribe  offered 
to  him,  in  the  shape  of  an  offer  of  Renee,  the  daughter  of  Louis 
of  France,  as  wife  to  Charles  of  Spain,  his  grandson — who  was 
already  betrothed  to  Henry’s  youngest  sister,  Mary — carrying 
with  her,  as  dowry,  the  cession  of  the  duchy  of  Milan  to  Spain 
by  the  crown  of  France,  which  held  it  by  conquest  from  Lu¬ 
dovico  Sforza,  its  rightful  owner  and  sovereign. 

The  king  affected,  at  first,  to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  the 
French  duke's  information ;  but,  if  he  did  really  distrust  it. 
his  hesitations  were  soon  removed  by  the  evasive  answers 
which  the  regency  of  Flanders  returned  to  his  demand,  that 
they  should  now  proceed  to  celebrate  the  stipulated  marriage 
between  Charles  and  Mary. 

Indignant  at  what  he  justly  considered  the  falsehood  of  his 
allies,  Henry  instantly  broke  off  all  connection  with  the  con¬ 
federates,  and,  by  aid  of  the  Duke  of  Longueville,  speedily 
came  to  the  closest  terms  with  Louis  XII.,  whose  queen,  Anne 


WEDDING  OF  LOUIS  XII.  AND  MART. 


87 


of  Bretagne,  had  lately  left  him  a  widower,  at  the  age  of  fifty- 
three  years. 

The  binding  of  this  contract  was  ratified  by  the  hand  of 
Mary,  the  beautiful  and  blooming  sister  of  Henry ;  who, 
though  but  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  believed  to  be  in  love 
with  Charles  Brandon,  duke  of  Suffolk,  either  yielding  to  state 
necessity,  or  seduced  by  the  dazzle  of  royalty,  consented  to 
the  contract,  receiving  the  same  jointure  and  dowry  with  the 
late  queen  of  France.  She  carried  to  Louis  four  hundred 
thousand  crowns  as  her  portion.  Tournay  was  ceded  to  En¬ 
gland,  a  million  of  crowns  accrued  to  Henry,  as  arrears  due 
to  himself  and  his  father,  and  Richard  de  la  Pole  was  ban¬ 
ished  to  Metz,  with  a  pension  assigned  to  him  by  the  French 
king. 

Early  in  September  the  first  ceremonies  of  the  marriage 
were  performed  by  procuration,  Louis  of  Longueville  contract¬ 
ing  the  marriage  per  parole  de  present ,  under  authority  from 
the  king,  and  Mary’s  procuration  to  the  same  effect  being  sent 
to  Paris,  where  the  ceremony  was  solemnly  held  at  the  Celes- 
tins,  on  the  fourteenth  of  the  month.  In  October,  she  was  es¬ 
corted  to  the  sea  shore  by  Henry  and  his  queen,  in  person,  and 
took  ship  for  Boulogne  under  the  guidance  of  the  Duke  of  Nor¬ 
folk,  with  a  splendid  retinue  and  train  of  attendants,  among 
whom  the  most  remarkable  were  Lady  Guilford,  whom  the 
queen  called  her  mother,  and  the  beautiful  mistress  Anne  Bo- 
leyn,  destined  in  after  days  to  play  so  considerable  and  sad  a 
part  in  English  history.  From  Boulogne  she  was  escorted  to 
Abbeville,  by  a  great  train  of  the  most  distinguished  persons 
in  France,  and  at  that  place  met  her  somewhat  aged  but  deeply 
enamored  wooer,  to  whom  she  was  wedded  with  much  splen¬ 
dor,  on  St.  Deny’s  day,  the  ninth  of  October. 


8S  FOREIGN  NATIONALITY  OF  QUEENS  CONSORT. 

The  ceremony  performed,  Louis  bestowed  many  splendid 
jewels  on  the  queen,  and  rich  presents  on  those  of  her  suite ; 
but  immediately  afterward,  somewhat  to  Mary’s  discontent,  in 
the  first  instance,  though  it  seems  that  the  attentions  of  her  doting 
husband  aud  the  splendid  pageantries  of  Paris  soon  reconciled 
her,  he  summarily  dismissed  all  the  English  in  her  train,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  officers  and  ladies  of  her  personal  at¬ 
tendance.  among  whom  the  lovely  Anne  Boleyu  was  suffered 
to  remain.  Lady  Guilford  he  especially  discharged,  replying 
to  the  Earl  of  Worcester’s  remonstrances,  that  “his  wife  was 
of  age  to  take  care  of  herself  and  required  no  longer  a  gov¬ 
erness  ;  ”  a  decision  in  which  Mary  appeal's  soon  to  have  coin¬ 
cided,  since  we  find  her  shortly  afterward  declaring  herself  per¬ 
fectly  content  with  her  French  servants.  Domestically  speak¬ 
ing,  Louis  was  wise  in  his  decision ;  and  perhaps,  since  his  con¬ 
duct  gave  no  offence  in  England,  politically  also.  Where  a 
foreign  princess  is  married  iuto  a  strange  land,  it  is  always  de¬ 
sirable  that  anything  like  the  maintenance  of  a  distinct  and  sep 
arate  nationality  should  be  avoided.  In  the  first  place,  inter 
nally,  the  royal  household  must  be  disturbed  by  the  conflicting 
interests,  jealousies,  and  dislikes  of  two  sets  of  attendants,  inev¬ 
itably  falling  into  rival  cliques  and  seeking  national  favoritism, 
and  probably  incapable  of  comprehending  one  another  fully, 
from  difference  of  language;  while  the  close  intimacy  and  per¬ 
fect  confidence  of  the  royal  persons  would  naturally  be  dimin¬ 
ished,  by  suspicions  instilled  by  the  agency  of  rival  favorites. 
In  the  second  place,  the  original  nationality  of  queens  consort, 
if  at  all  markedly  exhibited,  is  always  a  source  of  distrust,  sus¬ 
picion,  aud,  sometimes,  hatred  against  them,  to  the  subjects  of 
their  husbands.  The  merest  trifle,  difference  of  national  cos- 


UISTASXE  to  foreign  queens. 


89 


uumes,  creates  prejudice,  excites  ridicule,  and  begets  ill-will  in 
the  illiterate  masses. 

In  almost  every  case  of  such  marriages  recorded  in  history, 
we  find  the  ill  effect  of  the  maintenance  of  such  trains  in  the 
courts  into  which  foreign  princesses  or  princes  have  been  ad¬ 
mitted,  and  the  happiest  instances  of  such. espousals  have  inva¬ 
riably  been  those,  in  which  the  person  introduced  has  most  en¬ 
tirely  ignored  the  customs  and  costumes  of  the  old,  and  adop¬ 
ted  those  of  the  new  country. 

A  few  striking  instances  illustrate  this  fact.  In  the  reign 
of  the  very  king,  Henry  V 111.,  of  whom  I  am  treating,  the  cos¬ 
tumes  of  the  German  ladies-in-waiting  of  Anne  of  Cleves,  exci¬ 
ted  universal  ridicule  and  disgust  among  the  courtiers,  and  prob¬ 
ably  added  not  a  little  to  the  prejudice  of  the  monarch  against 
the  “  mare  of  Flanders,”  as  he  coarsely  and  brutally  nicknamed 
his  virtuous  and  noble  consort.  That  she,  after  her  divorce, 
held  so  high  a  place  in  the  feelings  of  her  former  subjects,  must 
be  attributed — as  was  seen  also  in  the  case  of  her  right  royal 
predecessor,  Katharine  of  Arragon — to  a  total  avoidance  of  all 
distinctions  of  nationality,  and  to  her  having  lived,  throughout 
her  life,  in  the  style,  and  after  the  customs,  of  an  English  lady 
of  rank. 

With  the  hapless  Mary  of  Scotland,  the  first  bitter  preju¬ 
dice,  both  of  nobles  and  people,  against  their  beautiful  sover¬ 
eign,  which  afterward  increased  into  vindictive  and  almost  per¬ 
sonal  animosity,  may  be  traced  to  the  French  attendants, 
French  manners,  French  frivolities,  and,  perhaps  it  may  be 
added,  French  morals,  engrafted  by  her  on  the  grim  auster¬ 
ity,  gloomy  decorum,  and  stiff  solemnities  of  her  northern 
court. 

In  the  reign  of  England’s  reproach — the  pale,  frigid,  blood) 


90 


THE  HOUSES  OF  BouuoM  aND  BRUNSWICK. 


Mary — neither  her  bigoted  cruelty,  nor  the  real  wrongs  in. 
dieted  on  them  by  the  morose  and  sa\  age  Philip,  more  enraged 
the  groaning  English,  than  the  sight  of  the  black-garbed,  starch- 
rutled,  stately,  unbending  cavaliers,  the  Spanish  hose  and  long 
rapiers  of  the  whiskered  matadoros,  the  bare  feet  and  cowled 
heads  of  the  tonsured  friars,  and  the  Romish  pomp  of  the 
proud,  austere  prelates,  who  had  followed  him  from  the  land 
of  the  Inquisition. 

No  one  of  the  unhappy  English  Stuarts  but  suffered  from 
the  same  cause.  Henrietta  Maria,  though  she  was  daughter 
of  the  good  and  great  Henry  IV.,  subject  of  so  much  English 
sympathy,  never  conciliated  the  favor  of  her  unhappy  husband’s 
people;  she  was,  to  the  mass  of  the  people,  ever  the  French¬ 
woman,  and,  to  the  stricter  Puritans,  the  painted  Jezabel  of 
Paris.  In  the  time  of  his  loose,  licentious  son,  Charles  II.,  the 
brown  Portuguese  waiting  women,  with  their  foreign  farthing¬ 
ales  and  sevenfold  vertugardins,  more  even  than  her  barefoot 
confessor,  rendered  the  people  indifferent,  if  not  actually  hos¬ 
tile,  to  his  ill-treated  queen,  Katharine  of  Braganza. 

Nor,  while  speaking  of  this  topic,  though  incidentally,  can 
one  fail  to  recall  to  mind  the  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette, 
against  whom  the  furies  of  revolutionary  France,  and  the  vo¬ 
cabulary  of  republican  abuse  could  invent  no  reproach  more 
odious,  no  cry  more  stimulating  to  the  passions  of  the  rabble, 
than  the  national  denunciation,  “a  bas  V Autrichienne  ” — down 
with  the  Austrian  woman  !  In  like  manner,  with  princes;** 
the  Dutch  guards,  the  Schiedam  schnapps,  and  the  Middle- 
burgh  tobacco  of  William  the  Third,  the  great  prince  of  Or 
ange,  though  he  had  crossed  over  from  Holland  at  their  owe 
invitation,  and  restored  to  them  their  liberty  and  religion,  long 


THE  HOUSES  OF  BOURBON  AND  BRUNSWICK. 


91 


preserved  a  hostile  prejudice  among  his  people  against  that 
great  and  Protestant  king. 

The  house  of  Brunswick,  never,  until  the  accession  of  George 
IV.,  who,  undoubtedly,  was  the  least  worthy  of  his  line,  but 
who  had  this  advantage  over  all  his  predecessors,  that  he  was 
the  first  thoroughly  English,  prince  of  the  family,  had  com¬ 
pletely  overcome  the  offence  given  to  the  nation  by  the  pre¬ 
ference  of  German  nobles  in  attendance,  German  preceptors 
and  governesses  in  the  royal  nurseries,  German  grooms,  and 
even  German  horses,  in  the  stable,  to  natives  of  the  unmixed 
breed. 

Even  in  the  present  most  prosperous  and  most  popular  reign, 
in  spite  of  the  deep  and  enthusiastic  attachment  of  the  whole  na¬ 
tion  to  their  beloved  queen,  in  spite  of  the  great  caution  and 
prudence  which  he  has  exhibited  in  his  whole  career,  and  his 
total  avoidance  of  foreign  favoritism,  that  almost  universal  er¬ 
ror  of  alien  princes,  the  slightest  suspicion  of  Germanism,  even 
in  the  shape  of  a  soldier’s  hat,  or  the  adjustment  of  his  cross¬ 
belts,  much  more  in  the  conduct  of  a  war,  has  sufficed  to  raise 
against  the  unobtrusive  consort  a  burst  of  ridicule  or  a  storm 
of  obloquy.  It  appears,  however,  that  in  this  instance,  though 
they  might  not  improperly  have  taken  some  umbrage  at  tho 
summary  proceeding  of  Louis  XII.,  and  though  it  would  have 
been  clearly  characteristic  of  Henry’s  temper  to  do  so,  no  of¬ 
fence  arose  from  the  course  adopted  by  the  French  king,  as  is 
rendered  clearly  evident  by  the  circumstances  which  followed 
shortly  afterward,  and  which  I  quote  from  the  history  of  Lord 
Herbert  of  Cherbury,  himself  an  enthusiast  and  champion  in 
exercises  such  as  he  describes. 

“Francis  de  Valois,  duke  of  Angouleme,  and  next  heir 


y2 


THE  JUSTS  AT  PARIS. 


male  to  the  crown,  having  in  May  before  married  Cloud,* 
eldest  daughter  of  Louis  Xll.,  by  Anne,  who  was  inheritrix  of 
Bretagne,  desired  now  in  the  king's  declining  age  to  give  some 
proof  of  his  valor.  Therefore,  before  the  English  departed 
from  Abbeville,  he  caused  a  justs  to  be  proclaimed ;  which, 
lor  being  so  extraordinary — the  persons  and  manner  considered 
— 1  thought  worth  the  relating.  The  effect  thereof  was  that, 
in  November  ensuing,  he  with  nine  aids,  would  answer  all 
comers,  that  were  gentlemen  of  name  and  arms,  on  horseback 
and  on  foot  The  laws  on  horseback  were,  that  with  sharp 
spears  they  should  run  five  courses  at  tilt,  aud  five  more  at 
random,  being  well  armed  and  covered  with  pieces  of  advan¬ 
tage  for  their  best  defence.  After  this  to  light  twelve  strokes 
with  sharp  swords.  This  being  doue,  he  and  his  aids  offered 
to  fight  at  barriers  with  a  haudspear  and  sword.  The  condi¬ 
tions  were  that  if  any  man  were  unhorsed,  or  felled  fighting 
on  foot,  his  armor  and  horse  should  be  rendered  to  the  omcer 
of  arms. 

“  That  for  this  purpose  an  arch  triumphant  should  be  set 
forth  at  the  Touruelles,  near  the  street  St.  Antoine,  in  Paris, 
ou  which  four  shields  should  be  placed.  That  he  who  touched 
the  first,  which  was  silver,  should  run  at  tilt,  according  to  the 
articles.  Who  touched  the  golden  shield  should  run  at  random. 
He  that  touched  the  black  shield  should  fight  ou  foot  with 
handspears  and  swords  for  the  one  hand ;  six  foius  with  the 
li.mdspear,  and  then  eight  strokes  to  the  most  advantage,  if 
the  sword  so  long  held,  and  after  that  twelve  strokes  with  the 
sword.  He  that  touched  the  tawuey  shield  should  cast  a  spear 
on  foot  with  a  target  ou  his  arm,  and  after  fight  with  a  two- 

*  Claude,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Louis,  by  Anne  of  Brittany,  who  destined  her  w 
me  Archduke  Charles. —  France^  iL  82. 


THE  DUKE  OF  SUFFOLK. 


93 


handed  sword.  This  proclamation  being  made,  the  Duke  of 
Suffolk,  and  Marquis  of  Dorset,  and  his  four  brethren,  the  Lord 
Clinton,  Sir  Edward  Neville,  Sir  Giles  Capell,  Thomas  C'heyney, 
and  others,  obtained  leave  of  the  king  to  be  at  the  challenge ; 
which  they  so  hastened,  that  before  the  end  of  October  they 
came  to  St.  Denys,  where  they  found  the  queen,  the  so¬ 
lemnities  for  her  coronation,  as  also  for  her  reception  at 
Paris,  being  not  yet  in  readiness.  Francis  de  Valois  knowing 
how  good  men-at-arms  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  and  Marquis  of 
Dorset  were,  requested  them  to  be  two  of  his  aids,  to  which 
they  assented.  But  while  these  things  were  in  preparing, 
Mary,  the  French  queen,  was,  upon  the  fifth  of  November, 
crowned  in  St.  Denys,  the  Earl  of  Worcester  and  Dr.  West, 
who  were  appointed  for  this  purpose  by  our  king,  attending  at 
the  solemnity  thereof,  and  Francis  de  Valois,  afterward  king, 
holding  the  crown,  which  was  very  weighty,  over  her  head. 
The  day  following  she  entered  Paris  with  great  pomp,  and  the 
morrow  after,  the  justs  begun,  of  which  the  king  and  queen 
were  both  spectators,  the  king  being  yet  so  weak  that  he  lay 
on  a  couch.  These  justs  continued  three  days,  in  which  three 
hundred  and  five  men-at-arms  were  answered  by  the  defend¬ 
ants,  among  which  some  were  so  hurt  that  they  died  not  long 
after.  At  Random  and  Tournay,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  hurt  a 
gentleman  very  dangerously,  and  the  Marquis  of  Dorset  did 
no  less.  Then  the  duke  overthrew  a  man,  both  horse  and 
arms,  and  so  did  the  marquis.  Francis,  at  last  being  hurt, 
desires  the  duke  and  marquis  to  fight  at  barriers,  who  there¬ 
fore  took  the  first  place  against  all  comers.  In  the  meanwhile, 
Francis,  intending  an  affront,  as  was  thought,  to  the  duke, 
causeth  a  German,  the  strongest  person  in  all  the  court,  to  be 
armed  secretly,  and  present  himself  at  the  barriers  ;  they  both 


94 


THE  DEATH  OF  XIXO  LOUIS. 


did  well ;  yet  the  duke,  at  the  last,  with  the  butt  end  of  n 
spear  stiuck  the  German  till  he.  staggered,  and  so  the  rail  was 
let  fall.  The  Marquis  of  Dorset  also  foiled  another  French¬ 
man.  Then  they  took  some  breath,  and  returned  to  fight  again, 
when  the  duke  so  pommelled  the  German  about  the  head,  that 
blood  gU'hed  from  his  nose,  which  being  done  the  German  was 
conveyed  away  secretly.  Divers  other  brave  feats  were  done 
likewise,  which  the  reader  may  find  elsewhere.  At  last  our 
English,  with  singular  honor,  returned  to  their  king  and  mas- 
ter,  whom  they  found  much  comforted  for  the  birth  of  another 
prince,  though  not  living  long  after.’'* 

Such  were  the  fierce  and  dangerous  sports  in  which  our  An¬ 
glo-Norman  ancestors  rejoiced,  which  were  not  deemed  too 
sanguinary  or  too  cruel  for  the  entertainment  of  fair  and  gen¬ 
tle  ladies,  and  in  which  Henry  himself  took  especial  pride  and 
pleasure. 

Great  and  extraordinary,  however,  as  were  the  rejoicings  at 
this  royal  marriage,  and  sumptuous  as  were  the  entertainments 
which  followed  Mary’s  elevation  to  her  royal  state,  she  was 
not  destined  long  to  enjoy  them.  Perhaps,  had  the  revelries 
been  less  lasting  and  superb,  the  state  might  have  endured  the 
longer ;  for  the  king,  a  confirmed  valetudinarian,  and  a  martyr 
to  the  gout,  declined  rapidly  under  the  effect  of  banqueting, 
late  hours,  and  suppers,  after  grand  court  balls,  protracted  un 
lil  midnight.  He  was  so  anxious  to  please  his  gay  and  beau¬ 
tiful  bride,  says  an  old  writer, f  “  that  he  changed  all  his  habi¬ 
tudes  of  life ;  for,  whereas  he  had  been  used  to  dine  at  eight 
o’clock,  he  agreed  to  put  off  dinner  until  noon,  and  whereas  he 
used  to  retire  to  bed  at  six  o’clock  in  the  evening,  he  now  often 
sat  up  until  midnight.” 


*  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  48. 


t  Hist  de  Bayard,  apud  Henaolt,  423. 


THE  YOUTHFUL  WIDOW. 


95 


At  what  hour  the  good  king  Louis  had  been  wont  to  break¬ 
fast ,  when  it  was  his  habit  to  dine  at  eight  o’clock  in  the  morn¬ 
ing,  does  not  appear ;  but  one  cannot  but  smile  at  the  idea  of 
a  man  of  fifty-three,  certainly  not  a  very  advanced  age,  suffer¬ 
ing  seriously  from  the  fact  of  his  deferring  his  dinner  hour  un¬ 
til  noon.  In  truth,  however,  it  is  the  name,  rather  than  either 
the  quality,  or  the  hour,  of  the  midday  and  evening  meals,  rel¬ 
atively  considered,  that  has  changed,  from  the  sixteenth  to  the 
nineteenth  century,  so  fiir  as  regards  the  upper  classes  in  Eu¬ 
rope  and  America.  Then,  the  dinner  was  a  secondary  meal, 
served  usually  between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  one,  breakfast 
having  been  taken  at  five  or  six  ;  while  supper,  which  was  the 
grand  solid  affair  of  the  day,  came  on  the  board  from  six  to 
eight  o’clock  of  the  evening,  corresponding  almost  exactly  to 
the.usual  luncheon  and  dinner  hours  of  the  modern  fashionable 
world. 

Be  that,  however,  as  it  may,  greatly  to  the  grief  of  his  wor¬ 
thy  Parisians,  but  considerably,  one  would  say  from  what  fol¬ 
lowed,  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  fair  young  widow,  the  good 
King  Louis  died,  within  three  months  after  his  marriage ; 
whether  in  consequence  of  indigestion  from  his  late  meridian 
dinners,  or  from  other  causes,  may  be  held  doubtful.  Francis 
of  Valois,  duke  of  Angoulcme,  his  next  heir  of  blood,  and  hus¬ 
band  of  his  eldest  daughter,  Claude,  succeeded  him  ;  and  Ma¬ 
ry’s  former  lover,  Charles  Brandon,  duke  of  Suffolk,  having 
been  sent  to  Paris  by  Henry  with  a  message  of  condolence, 
was  persuaded,  between  the  blandishment  of  his  lady  love,  and 
the  encouragement  of  Francis,  who  had  reason  to  apprehend 
that  she  would  be  given  in  second  marriage  to  the  Archduke 
Charles,  to  risk  the  anger  of  his  lord  and  master,  by  espousing 
his  fair  sister,  without  awaiting  the  ceremony  of  asking  his  con- 


96 


SECOND  MARRIAGE  OF  MARY. 


sent.  It  is  said,  that  the  amorous  widow,  taking  advantage, 
of  her  high  rank,  adopted  the  privilege,  which  is  said  to  belong 
to  the  whole  sex,  in  leap  year,  and  asked  her  lover,  “  if  he 
dared,  without  farther  reflection,  to  marry  a  queen,”  assuring 
him,  at  the  same  time,  that  her  brother  would  far  more  readily 
pardon  them  for  anticipating  his  sanction,  than  for  acting  in  de¬ 
fiance  of  it.  The  gentleman  said  “Yes,”  and  they  were  wed¬ 
ded  secretly  in  Paris.  Nor  were  Mary’s  anticipations  incor¬ 
rect,  if  indeed  the  whole  matter  were  not  prearranged,  which 
seems  probable;  since  Wolsey,  it  is  known,  was  privy  to  the 
scheme,  and  neither  attempted  to  oppose,  nor  yet  divulged  it 
to  Henry.  That  monarch  probably  felt  that,  as  both  parties 
were  out  of  reach  of  his  authority,  he  could  not  prevent  their 
union  ;  and  preferred  pardoning,  to  allowing,  his  sister’s  ill-as¬ 
sorted  marriage  with  a  subject.  It  may  be  added,  moreover, 
that  in  those  times  the  intermarriage  of  royal  houses  with  their 
own  subjects  of  the  feudal  aristocracy  was  not  unusual,  and  that 
Suffolk  himself  was,  up  to  this  time,  Heury’s  especial  favorite 
and  companion. 

About  the  same  time,  the  other  sister  of  the  English  king, 
Margaret,  who  likewise  had  been  left  a  widow,  and  queen  re¬ 
gent  of  Scotland,  by  the  death  of  James  IV.  on  Flodden  field, 
also  married  a  noble  from  her  own  subjects,  the  Earl  of  An¬ 
gus  ;  although  she  thereby  forfeited  the  regency,  which  was 
left  to  her  on  the  express  condition  that  she  should  not  re¬ 
marry,  and  was  shortly  afterward  compelled  to  take  refuge 
with  her  husband,  though  she  failed  to  bring  off  her  youthful 
sons,  at  the  court  of  her  brother,  in  consequence  w  hereof,  su- 
peradded  to  the  recall  of  the  Duke  of  Albany,  a  prince  totally 
in  the  interests  of  the  French  king,  and  his  promotion  to  the 


MISTRESS  ANNE  BOLEYN. 


97 


regency,  war  was,  not  long  afterward,  rekindled  betweeu  the 
bordering  nations. 

In  the  meantime,  the  queen  dowager  of  France,  with  her 
splendid  husband,  and  all  the  train  which  had  escorted  her  to 
France,  returned  to  their  native  land,  with  the  exception  of 
Mistress  Anne  Boleyn,  who  was  appointed  maid  of  honor  to 
the  French  queen,  Claude ;  and  perhaps  of  Mistress  Jane  Sey¬ 
mour  also,  although  her  name  is  not  recorded  as  having  fol¬ 
lowed  Mary  of  England  to  France,  who  also  figured,  nearly  at 
the  same  time,  as  maid  of  honor  to  the  same  royal  lady — a 
fact  which  is  established  by  the  existence,  in  the  gallery  of  the 
Louvre,  of  portraits  of  these  two  celebrated  beauties,  by  the 
no  less  celebrated  Hans  Holbein. 

Shortly  after  Mary’s  return,  she  and  her  husband  received 
Henry’s  formal  pardon,  and  were  publicly  married  in  his  pres¬ 
ence  at  Greenwich ;  Suffolk  did  not,  however,  continue  long  to 
engross  the  favor  of  Henry,  but  soon  afterward,  disgusted  by 
the  overweening  growth  and  overbearing  audacity  of  Wolsey, 
retired  to  his  country-seat,  at  the  same  time  with  YVarham, 
the  archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  ex-chancellor.  Fox,  bishop 
of  Winchester,  and  the  noble  Duke  of  Norfolk. 

For,  from  this  moment,  never  did  any  subject  ascend  so 
rapidly  in  his  monarch’s  favor,  or  obtain  so  vast  an  ascendency 
both  in  favor  and  wealth,  as  this  obscure  and  low-born  priest, 
partly,  it  must  be  admitted,  through  his  administrative  and 
diplomatic  talents,  but  far  more  by  his  rare  tact,  his  shrewd¬ 
ness  in  intrigue,  and  his  dexterity  in  administering  to  the  pas¬ 
sions,  prompting  the  will,  and  conciliating  the  unstable  affec¬ 
tions  of  the  fickle  king. 

After  his  return  from  France,  where  he  had  been  made 
bishop  of  Tournay,  wo  have  seen  him  raised  to  the  see  of  Lin- 
E‘  7 


WOLSEY  ARCHBISHOP. 


98 

coin,  he  was  now  successively  created  Bishop  of  Bath,  Durha  m 
and  Worcester,  and  Archbishop  of  York,  if  not  holding  the 
titles,  at  least  enjoying  the  revenues  of  all  at  once,  in  addition 
to  the  abbacy  of  St.  Albans,  which  he  held  in  commendam , 
and  the  tithes  of  the  bishoprics  of  Hereford  and  Winchester, 
and  other  ecclesiastical  preferments.  On  the  resignation  of 
William  Warham,  as  chancellor,  he  received  that  place,  after 
obtaining  from  Leo  X.  the  cardinal  priestship  of  St.  Cicely 
beyond  the  Tiber,  by -which  that  pontiff  hoped  to  secure  his 
influence  over  the  king,  his  master,  and  subsequently  the  ap 
pointment  of  legate  a  latere ,  by  which  he  held  the  right  of  vis¬ 
iting,  which  carried  with  it  the  power  of  suspension,  confisca¬ 
tion,  and  imprisonment,  all  the  ecclesiastical  establishments  in 
England. 

“  Thus,”  says  the  author  I  have  so  often  quoted,  “  were  dig¬ 
nities  and  wealth  heaped  so  fast  on  Wolsey,  that,  beiug  in  his 
nature  insolent,  he  grew  at  length  intolerable.  Neither  could 
those  excellent  parts  with  which  he  was  endowed  exempt  him  ; 
insomuch  that  not  only  much  arrogance,  but  extreme  vanity, 
was  observed  in  him  ;  whereas  yet  nothing  commends  church¬ 
men  so  much  as  a  pious  modesty ;  all  degrees  of  persons,  but 
especially  theirs,  being  like  coius  or  medals,  to  which  howso¬ 
ever  virtue  gives  the  stamp  and  impression,  humility  must  give 
the  weight.  Yet  this  cardinal,  contrary  to  all  example,  is  no¬ 
ted  by  Polydore,  to  have  used  silk  and  gold  in  his  outward 
vestments,  and  even  saddles.  He  caused  also  the  cardinal's 
hat  to  be  borne,  by  some  principal  person,  before  him,  on  a 
great  height,  like  some  consecrated  idol,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  king’s  chapel,  would  admit  no  place  to  rest  it  on  but  the 
very  altar ;  he  had  besides  his  serjeant-at-arms  and  mace,  and 
two  gentlemen  carrying  two  pillars  of  silver,  beside  his  cross- 


CHARACTER  OF  WOLSEY. 


99 


bearer,  concerning  which  it  is  observed,  that  he  did  bear  the 
cross  of  York,  somewhat  to  the  prejudice  of  that  of  Canterbury, 
which  perchance  might  be  some  discontentment  to  the  Arch¬ 
bishop  Warham.  In  conclusion,  all  his  actions  argued  a 
haughtier  spirit  than  could  become  his  place.” 

Though  there  is  doubtless  much  truth  in  the  reports  of  Wol- 
sey’s  arrogance,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Polydore  Virgil 
was,  for  especial  cause,  his  bitter  enemy,  having  been  thrown 
into  the  tower  by  his  orders;  while  it  is  admitted  that  “a 
strict  administration  of  justice  took  place  during  his  enjoyment 
of  his  office  ;  and  no  chancellor  ever  discovered  greater  impar¬ 
tiality  in  his  decisions,  deeper  penetration  of  judgment,  or 
more  enlarged  knowledge  of  law  and  equity.”*  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  country  was  tranquil  and  sufficiently  well- 
governed  at  home ;  that  he  caused  it  to  be  respected  abroad, 
and  that,  if  his  foreign  policy  in  some  degree  lacked  consist¬ 
ency,  vacillating  between  French  and  Spanish  interests,  it  was 
that  he,  the  first,  conceived  the  idea  of  preserving  an  equilib¬ 
rium  between  the  greater  powers,  and  that  he  could  not  have 
sided  uniformly  with  one,  or  maintained  an  unbroken  alliance 
with  either  of  two  princes  so  puissant,  so  ambitious,  and  so 
unscrupulous  as  Charles  V.  and  Francis  I.,  without  giving  to 
one  a  supremacy,  dangerous  alike  to  his  country  and  to  the 
world.  He  was  a  liberal  and  munificent  protector  of  letters, 
a  powerful  patron  of  the  arts ;  he  had  a  noble  taste  in  architec¬ 
ture,  which  he  bounteously  promoted,  having  built  at  his  own 
cost,  and  it  is  said  from  his  own  designs,  the  chaste  and  splen¬ 
did  palace  of  Hampton  Court,  which  he  afterward  presented  to 
the  king,  his  master,  fully  furnished  in  a  style  of  princely  mu¬ 
nificence — the  most  noble  gift  ever  bestowed  by  a  subject  od 
♦Sir  Thomas  More,  quited  by  Hume;  vol.  Hi.  109,  from  Stcwo,  p.  504. 


100 


FOREIGN  POLICY  OF  WOLSEY. 


a  crowned  head.  If  he  were  grasping  of  wealth,  it  was  to  spend 
it  in  lordly  lavishness,  prompting  all  the  arts  of  industry  and 
civilization,  not  to  hoard  it  in  avaricious  coffers,  or  bestow  it 
on  unworthy  favorites. 

lie  has  been  accused  of  encouraging  Henry  to  extravagance, 
and  discouraging  him  from  business,  in  order  to  have  the 
greater  hold  on  him,  as  being  the  more  necessary  both  to  his 
pleasures  and  his  councils ;  but  I  can  discover  no  shadow  of 
foundation  for  the  charge. 

lie  has  been  accused  of  influencing  his  master,  at  divers 
times,  to  different  lines  of  policy,  for  the  convenience  of  his 
own  ambitious  schemes, mot  for  the  interests  of  England.  Thus 
the  conquest  and  retention  of  Tournay,  an  impolitic  measure, 
certainly,  and  a  possession  useless  and  expensive  to  England, 
which  must  needs  be  a  source  of  constant  irritation  to  France, 
has  been  laid  to  his  charge,  for  purposes  of  self-aggrandize¬ 
ment.  But,  in  his  age,  the  impolicy  of  maintaining  such  places, 
in  the  heart  of  hostile  countries,  was  little  understood ;  the  na¬ 
tional  pride  was  enlisted  in  their  retention,  and  the  surrenders 
of  Tournay,  Calais,  and  Dunkirk,  in  after  days,  were  in  no  de¬ 
gree  less  obnoxious  to  the  patriotic  feeling  of  the  time,  than 
would  be  now  the  proposal  to  deliver  up  the  rock  of  Gib¬ 
raltar  to  Spain;  or  the  heights  of  Abraham  to  the  United  States 
of  America. 

Moreover,  I  find  that  the  cardinal  is  charged  equally  with 
obedience  to  self-interest  when  he  advised  the  restoration  of 
the  same  fortress  to  France,  in  shape  of  a  dowry  for  the  infant 
princess.  Mary,  on  her  betrothal  to  the  infant  dauphin,  in  consid¬ 
eration  of  the  payment  to  Henry  of  six  hundred  thousand  crowns 
by  Francis — certainly  at:  ample  remuneration  for  the  cession  of 
a  fortress^o  retain  which  was  both  a  dead  loss  and  a  decided 


BATTLE  OF  MARIGNANO. 


101 


danger — as  when  he  counselled  its  retention.  One  of  these 
charges,  therefore,  frustrates  the  other;  and  weighing  all  sides 
of  the  question,  1  cannot  but  conclude  that,  on  the  whole,  Wol- 
sey’s  foreign  policy  was  honest,  beneficial  to  the  world  at 
large,  and  thoroughly  English.  Perhaps,  by  carrying  a  higher 
hand,  he  might  have  enforced  peace  between  the  emperor  and 
the  king,  but  it  would  have  been  at  the  expense,  'if  not  of  a  re¬ 
sort  to  actual  warfare,  at  least  of  an  armed  neutrality,  while 
by  the  course  he  did  pursue,  he  lost,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  no  val¬ 
uable  possession,  and  certainly  no  honor,  to  his  country,  which 
never  held  a  higher  place  on  the  continent,  than  while  it  was 
under  his  high  and  haughty  rule. 

To  his  influeuce  over  Henry’s  councils,  it  is  certainly  to  be 
ascribed  that  by  conciliating  Francis,  so  long  as  conciliation 
was  possible,  that  warlike  king  was  prevented  from  creating 
a  powerful  diversion  in  the  sister  kingdom,  by  lending  armed 
assistance  to  the  regent,  Albany.  To  his  influence  it  must  be 
ascribed  that  conciliation  ceased,  and  the  force  of  England 
leaned  toward  Maximilian,  after  the  bloody  battle  of  Marignano, 
which,  after  lasting  two  entire  days,  and  costing  forty  thousand 
lives,  opened  the  whole  of  the  Milanese  to  the  French  victor, 
and  of  which  the  old  marechal,  Trivulsio,  who  had  fought  in 
eighteen  pitched  battles,  declared  that  all  other  actions  he  had 
seen  were  but  child’s  play, — this  a  combat  of  heroes.  To  his 
influence,  above  all,  it  may  be  attributed  that  Henry  declined 
the  investiture  of  that  fair  Italian  duchy,  and  the  imperial 
crown  of  Germany,  which  he  was  to  receive  at  the  hands  of 
the  sovereign  pontiff,  Maximilian  resigning  it  in  his  favor — 
than  which  magnificent  and  dazzling  offer,  had  it  been  accepted, 
nothing  can  be  imagined  more  disastrous,  more  fatal  to  the  in¬ 
terests  of  England. 


102 


RESTITUTION  OF  TOURNAT. 


Slid  cl}  'ter  this  occurrence,  alarmed  at  the  vast  coalitions 
which  se<  ed  on  the  point  of  forming  against  him,  Francis 
showed  si,  as  of  returning  moderation.  The  consent  of  the 
Swiss  confederacy  to  his  occupation  of  the  Milanese,  was  won 
by  vast  sums  o'’ money,  always  said,  with  truth  or  untruth,  to 
be  too  effective  on  the  Helvetic  mind.  Charles  of  Austria  was 
purchased  bj  the  offer  of  the  hand  of  the  infant  princess,  Lou¬ 
isa,  with  the  ’ights  of  the  house  of  Anjou  to  the  crown  of  Na¬ 
ples,  for  her  dowry.  J  Maximilian  was  convinced  by  the  same 
argument,  which  had  proved  so  conclusive  with  the  stout  Swit¬ 
zers.  Henry  alone  remained  stubborn  and  offended ;  and 
Francis  was  aware  that  he  had  not  only  subsidized  his  enemies, 
but  had  actually  concluded  a  secret  treaty  with  the  emperor 
and  the  king  of  Spain,  against  him. 

About  this  time,  however,  Selim  the  Magnificent,  emperor 
of  the  Turks,  having  overrun  Egypt,  Syria,  and  threatening 
destruction  to  the  very  name  of  Christendom,  the  pope,  of  his 
own  authority,  proclaimed  a  peace,  which  should  continue  for 
the  space  of  five  years,  between  all  Christian  powers  and 
princes,  and  sent  legates  to  induce  all  the  potentates  of  Chris¬ 
tendom  to  combine  against  the  Turk. 

This  device  succeeded ;  a  confederation  was  formed  of  the 
emperor,  the  pope,  and  the  kings  of  France,  Spain,  and  En¬ 
gland,  by  which  they  were  all  bound  to  interaid  and  protect 
one  another ;  and,  whenever  the  territories  of  one  should  be 
invaded,  whether  by  one  of  the  confederates  or  not,  all  to  take 
up  arms  in  defence  of  the  injured  party,  nor  to  depose  them 
until  justice  should  be  done.  It  was  to  remove  the  last  chance 
of  offence  that  restitution  of  Tournay  was  made,  on  the  condi¬ 
tions  above  stated,  and  that  the  little  Princess  Mary  was  con 


GENERAL  PACIFICATION. 


103 


tract ed  to  the  dauphin  of  France,  who  bi  ing  newly  born,  was 
just  four  years  her  junior. 

“Thus,”  says  Lingard,  “after  ten  years  of  war  and  negotia¬ 
tion,  of  bloodshed  and  perfidy,  were  all  the  parties  reestab- 
li  hed  in  the  same  situation,  in  which  they  had  stood  previ- 
ous’y  to  the  league  of  Cambrav,  with  the  exception  of  the  un- 
fort unate,  and  perhaps  unoffending  king  of  Navarre,  whose  ter¬ 
ritories  on  the  south  of  the  Pyrenees  could  not  be  recovered 
from  the  unrelenting  gra-p  of  Spain.”* 

This  peace,  which  is  known  historically  as  the  general  paci 
fication,  was  ratified  on  the  2d  of  October,  1518,  and,  by  it,  as 
Lingard  has  justly  observed,  no  one  was  a  loser,  except  the 
unhappy  Jean  d’Albret,  the  dispossessed  king  of  Navarre.  He 
might  have  added,  no  one  was  a  gainer  by  it,  except  Thomas 
Wolsey,  who,  from  an  obscure  priest,  son  of  an  inconsiderable 
burgher  of  Ipswich,  some  say  of  a  butcher,  had  grown  to  be 
archbishop  of  York,  lord  high  chancellor  of  England,  a  cardi¬ 
nal  prince  of  Rome,  legate  a  latere,  and  the  richest  subject  in 
the  world  ;  drawing  his  more  than  royal  revenues  not  only 
from  nearly  one-tenth  of  the  bishoprics,  abbacies,  and  wealth¬ 
iest  churches  of  England,  but  from  the  coffers  of  France,  which 
pensioned  him  in  compensation  for  his  see  of  Tournay,  and 
from  the  rich  bishoprics  of  Toledo  and  Palencia,  in  Spain, 
which  Ferdinand  had  conferred  on  him,  in  guerdon  of  his  ser¬ 
vices,  in  bringing  about  the  general  pacification. 

His  establishment  consisted  of  eight  hundred  individuals, 
earls,  knights,  and  gentlemen  of  high  lineage;  his  splendor  and 
pomp  were  scarce  surpassed  by  those  of  royalty  itself.  From 
this  time  forth,  11  on  solemn  fast  days  he  would  say  mass  after 
th'  nanner  of  the  pope  himself;  not  only  bishops  and  abbots 


Lingard,  vol.  vi.  p.  40. 


104 


POWIR  OT  WOLBKY. 


serving  him  therein,  but  even  dukes  and  earls  giving  him  watei 
and  the  towel.  Besides,  not  contented  with  the  cross  of  York 
to  be  carried  before  him,  he  added  another  of  his  legacy,  which 
two  of  the  tallest  priests  that  could  be  found,  carried  on  great 
horses  before  him.  Insomuch,  that  it  grew  to  a  jest,  as  if  one 
cross  might  not  suffice  for  the  expiation  of  his  sins.”*  Never, 
perhaps,  before  or  since,  had  any  subject  risen  in  so  short  a 
time  to  such  preferment,  wealth,  preeminence,  and  power ; 
never,  in  after  days,  did  one  fall  more  lamentably.  We  have 
seen  the  splendor  of  his  ascension ;  the  next  act,  in  the  drama 
of  the  master’s  life,  is  the  superb  servant’s  downfall  and  disgrace^ 


•  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  foL  11 


CHAPTER  II. 

FROM  THE  QENERAL  PACIFCATION,  1618,  TO  THE  DIVORCE  OF 
KATHARINE,  1588. 

With  the  general  pacification  closes  the  first  scene  of  Henry's 
strange  and  varied  character.  Up  to  this  period,  we  have  seen 
him  a  rash,  vain,  luxurious,  headstrong,  and  somewhat  self- 
willed  prince;  but  nothing  had  vet  shown  itself  in  his  disposi¬ 
tion  which  indicated  the  obstinate  and  brutal  tyranny,  or  the 
merciless  love  of  blood,  which  hereafter  grew  upon  him,  till 
they  became  his  most  distinctive  attributes.  Except  in  the 
executions  of  Empson  and  Dudley,  the  guilt  of  which,  perhaps, 
belong  rather  to  his  council  than  to  himself,  and  that  of  Ed¬ 
mund  de  la  Pole,  who  was  a  victim,  rather  to  state  policy  and 
to  the  late  king’s  maxims,  than  to  any  sanguinary  humor  of  the 
present  prince,  hardly  any  blood  had  been  spilled  judicially  in 
England,  since  Henry’s  accession.  After  a  somewhat  formi¬ 
dable  rising  of  the  London  apprentices,  but  one  life  had  been 
sacrificed  to  the  law,  that  of  a  notorious  ringleader ;  and,  in  all 
respects,  his  reign  thus  far  would  compare  favorably  with  that 
of  any  one  of  his  predecessors.  But  now  the  influences  had 
begun  to  affect  him,  which  soon  converted  him  into  a  savage 
and  brutal  tyrant,  void  equally  of  justice,  gratitude,  or  mercy. 

Tfrom  this  point  the  declension  of  his  character  commences, 
and  the  decline  is  lamentably  rapid. 

E* 


106 


henry’s  mistresses. 


On  his  return  from  the  continent,  Henry  appears  to  have 
abandoned  himself  entirely  to  luxury  and  pleasure,  leaving  the 
reins  of  government  given  up  to  the  hands  of  his  minister ; 
and  it  was  at  this  time,  probably,  that  he  first  displayed  the 
germs  of  that  furious  and  ungovernable  lust  and  licentiousness, 
which  increased  on  him  in  his  latter  years,  until  they  became 
a  disease,  if  not  a  madness. 

Though  she  had  been  beautiful  and  majestic  when  she  was 
first  wedded  to  him,  Katharine  was  eight  years  Henry’s  senior; 
her  health  seems  to  have  been  delicate  from  the  beginning, 
none  of  her  children  surviving  many  months,  with  the  excep¬ 
tion  of  the  Princess  Mary,  who  was  subject  from  her  childhood 
to  violent  attacks  of  constitutional  and  probably  neuralgic  head¬ 
aches  ;  her  beauty  soon  faded,  and,  though  she  retained  to  the 
last  so  much  of  respect  and  esteem  as  Henry  was  capable  of 
feeling  toward  any  woman,  she  had  already  lost  all  hold  on  his 
passions,  which  seem  to  have  been  his  nearest  sentiment  to 
love  or  affection.  It  is  not  in  my  plan,  in  this  sketch  of  the 
king,  to  touch  any  more  on  his  conduct  toward  his  several  con¬ 
sorts  and  the  circumstances  connected  with  them,  than  is  ne 
cessary,  in  order  to  keep  the  thread  of  his  life  unbroken.  It 
must  be  observed,  however,  that  it  was  in  this  year  that,  so 
far  as  we  can  ascertain,  his  intercourse  commenced  with  the 
first  of  the  royal  mistresses,  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Sir  John 
Blount,  and  relict  of  Sir  Gilbert  Taillebois,  by  whom  he  had 
a  son,  Henry  Fitzroy,  afterward  earl  of  Nottingham,  duke  of 
Richmond,  admiral  of  England,*  warden  of  the  Scottish  inarches, 
and  lieutenant  of  Ireland.  To  this  boy  he  was  fondly  and 
proudly  attached ;  and  it  was  even  suspected,  that,  had  he 
lived,  his  legitimate  daughter  might  have  been  set  aside  from 


•XJngard,  ?1.  lid,  quoting  from  Cardinal  Pole,  §T6,  TI. 


DEATH  OF  MAXIMILIAN. 


107 


Aer  rightful  succession,  to  make  way  for  a  male,  if  base-born, 
successor.  He  died,  however,  in  the  year  1536,  in  the  eight¬ 
eenth  year  of  his  age,  having,  young  as  he  was,  long  sui  /ived 
his  mother’s  influence  over  his  father’s  fickle  humor.  Eliza¬ 
beth  Taillebois  was  soon  succeeded,  in  her  empire  over  his 
faithless  fancy,  by  Mary,  the  daughter  of  Sii  Thomas  Beltyn, 
the  elder  sister  of  Anne,  his  unfortunate  second  queen,  an  i  the 
granddaughter  of  Thomas,  duke  of  Norfolk.  This  lad  v  reigned, 
it  would  seem,  paramount  over  her  royal  lover,  for  a  longer 
period  than  any  other  of  his  wives,  or  mistresses,  tor  whom 
his  passion  seems  ever  to  have  been  as  short  lived  as  b  was 
furious  and  beyond  control.  It  was,  however,  her  fai?.  to  be 
deserted  in  her  turn,  though  the  king  provided  her  with  a  hus¬ 
band,  when  he  wearied  of  her;  and  it  was  said  that  her  fate 
proved  a  useful  lesson  to  her  sister  Anne,  when  the  king  courted 
her,  likewise,  to  illicit  love.  Though  wherein  the  lesson  pro  ved 
useful  to  poor  Anne  seems  somewhat  doubtful ;  since  one 
scarcely  sees  what  could  have  befallen  her  worse  than  to  die, 
with  a  decapitated  body  and  a  blighted  reputation,  even  if  she 
had  become  rather  liis  mistress,  as  Katharine  Parr,  the  last 
and  most  fortunate  of  his  queens,  declared  to  himself  it  was 
better  to  be,  than  his  wife. 

In  the  following  year,  Maximilian  of  Germany  died  ;  and, 
the  splendid  diadem  of  the  empire  becoming  a  prize  for  the 
most  fortunate  candidate,  Francis  of  France,  and  Charles  of 
Austria,  plunged  into  the  rivalry,  with  an  intensity  of  ambi¬ 
tion,  although  at  first  under  the  forms  of  amicable  competition, 
which  too  surely  portended  the  more  violent  strife,  into  w  hich  it 
w-as  afterward  destined  to  conduct  them.  Henry,  excited  by 
a  like  lust  of  glory  Er  a  while,  proposed  himself  as  a  rival  in 
the  race  to  these  great  princes,  but  learning  speedily  from  Pace, 


108 


CANDIDATES  FOR  EMPIRE. 


his  envoy,  that  lie  was  too  late  in  the  field,  a  large  majority  of 
the  electors  being  already  preengaged  to  one  or  other  of  the 
two  competitors,  he  withdrew  from  the  contest,  directing  his 
agent  if  possible  to  secure  the  election  of  a  native  priuce  rather 
than  that  of  either  Charles  or  Francis;  but,  should  he  find  that 
impossible,  to  throw  his  whole  influence  into  the  scale  of 
Qiarles,  who,  having  succeeded  to  the  rich  inheritance  of  the 
Netherlands,  in  right  of  his  father,  Philip,  had  on  the  death  of 
Ferdinand  obtained  the  tin-one  of  Spain,  in  right  of  his  mother, 
Juana,*  daughter  of  that  king  by  Isabella  of  Camille.  Wolsey, 
it  appears,  was  satisfied,  from  the  first,  of  the  impolicy,  as  well 
as  the  impossibility,  of  obtaining  the  imperial  crown  for  his 
master ;  but,  until  after  the  event,  when  he  learned  the  enor¬ 
mous  sums  which  it  had  cost  Charles  to  purchase  it  of  the 
electors,  on  which  he  said  he  was  “  right  glad he  had  not  sue 
oeeded,  Henry  would  hear  no  reason.  Whether  it  would  not 
have  been  the  truer  policy  of  England  to  support  the  claims 
of  the  French  in  lieu  of  those  of  the  Spanish  king,  is,  perhaps, 
doubtful.  Both  monarchs  were  equally  ambitious ;  if  either 
the  more  so,  it  was  not  Charles,  whose  relationship  to  Katha¬ 
rine  of  Arragon,  his  maternal  aunt,  might,  also,  be  considered 
as  a  cause  for  viewing  his  operations  with  less  suspicion  than 
those  of  his  rival.  Yet  the  immense  power  arising  from  the 
concentration  in  his  hands  of  the  kingdom  of  Spain,  the  duchy 
of  Burgundy,  the  Netherlands,  and  the  empire,  might  perhaps 
hive  been  regarded  as  more  formidable  than  the  accession  of 
strength  which  Frauds  would  have  gained  by  his  election. 
Thj  truth,  however,  appears  to  be  this,  that  the  moment  Henry 
resigned  his  pretensious  to  procuring  the  imperial  diadem,  he 
returned  to  his  original  design  of  reconquering  Anjou,  Nor 


*  Ltngard.  vi  4P. 


MANAGEMENT  OF  HENRY  AND  HIS  MINISTER. 


109 


mandy,  and  Guienne,  those  ancient  appanages  of  his  house  ;  if 
he  did  not  conceive  the  project  of  conquering  the  crown  of 
France  itself — ideas  to  which  he  clung  with  his  wonted  perti¬ 
nacity.  His  whole  after-conduct  toward  his  “well-beloved 
brother,”  Francis,  wras  marked  by  a  deep  duplicity  that  one 
would  scarce  hold  compatible  with  his  furious,  irritable,  and  jeal¬ 
ous  rashness,  were  it  not  a  characteristic  of  his  whole  career.  He 
was  at  least  as  sudden,  treacherous,  close,  and  secret  as  he  was 
fickle,  cruel,  and  capricious,  yet  at  the  same  time  obstinate, 
and,  where  his  purpose  was  set,  of  iron  will.  In  conclusion, 
the  apology  made  by  the  cardinal  to  Francis  and  by  him  ac¬ 
cepted,  to  the  end  that  England  would  not  have  supported 
Charles,  had  it  been  possible  successfully  to  oppose  him,  had 
in  itself  thus  much  at  least  of  truth,  that  her  opposition  would 
have  bitterly  irritated  Charles,  while  availing  Francis  nothing. 
Thus  far,  therefore,  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  Henry  or  his  min¬ 
ister  could  have  managed  their  continental  policy  better  than 
they  did ;  J'even  if  it  be  admitted  that  they  were  in  some  de¬ 
gree  influenced  by  that  ancient  rivalry  and  hostility  between 
the  two  nations,  which,  arising  from  the  growth  of  circum¬ 
stances,  fomented  by  centuries  of  strife,  had  come  to  be  re¬ 
garded  as  a  principle  of  nature,  and  as  the  inevitable  conse¬ 
quence  of  their  juxtaposition  and  their  greatness.  From  this 
moment  it  became  the  object  of  both  the  king  and  the  empe 
ror  to  court  Henry,  and  conciliate  him.  so  far  at  the  least  as  to 
secure  his  neutrality,  if  not  his  assistance,  in  case  of  the  rup¬ 
ture,  which  both  foresaw,  and  which  Francis  probably  intended. 

The  latter  prince,  to  this  intent,  proposed  that  the  meeting, 
for  which  provision  had  been  made  in  the  treaty,  of  the  two 
kings,  on  the  frontiers  of  their  dominions,  should  take  place 
forthwith;  and  Henry,  delighting  in  such  an  occasion  fin-  pa 


110 


CONFERENCE  OF  KINGS. 


geantry  and  splendor,  with  the  full  concurrence  of  Wolsey 
himself  in  no  sort  averse  to  it,  immediately  assented.  . 

This  led  to  the  celeorated  conference,  held  within  the  con 
fines  of  the  English  district,  or  pale,  as  it  was  called,  of  Calais, 
so  fir  renowned  in  legend  and  romance,  no  less  than  in  the  so¬ 
ber  page  of  history,  as  the  Field  of  Cloth  of  Gold. 

For  this  feast  of  kings  preparations  were  made  which  exceed 
belief,  exceed  even  imagination  ;  nobles  and  princes  mortgaged 
their  estates,  sold  or  pawned  their  ancestral  plate,  nay,  dispos¬ 
sessed  themselves  of  feudal  droicts,  and  even  such  of  their  lands 
as  were  unentailed,  that  they  might  go  brave  to  that  grand 
show  of  bravery,  of  vanity  of  vanities.  Proclamation  was 
made  in  every  court  of  Europe, —  France,  England,  the 
Low  Countries,  Germany,  Burgundy,  Italy,  and  Spain, — that  in 
June,  1520,  “the  two  kings,  Francis  and  Henry,  with  fourteen 
aids,  would,  in  a  camp  between  Ardres  and  Guisnes,  answer 
all  comers,  that  were  gentlemen,  at  Tilt,  Tourney,  and  Barri¬ 
ers.”  The  queens,  with  all  their  trains  and  retinues,  all  the 
beauty  and  brilliancy,  all  the  valor  and  the  glory  of  the  two 
great  rival  realms  were  to  be  present;  and  the  chivalry  of  the 
assembled  world  were  to  be  the  champions  and  the  spectators 
of  the  noble  game  of  spears.  All  the  leaders  of  England’s 
feudal  aristocracy  were  summoned  by  name,  to  attend,  in  or¬ 
der  in  their  degree,  to  support  their  monarch’s  state,  the  sum 
mons  amounting  to  no  less  than  an  undeniable  command. 
Yet  ^ajminous  were  the  expenses  necessary,  a$_  first  sight,  at 
attendance,  that  even  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  tl^e  greatest 
and  wealthiest  of  the  English  nobles  of  the  day,  wasSstaggered 
at  the  amount,  and  at  the  burthens,  which,  as  he  foresaw,  he 
should  be  compelled  to  impose  on  his  tenantry.  He  had  the 
unenv  iable  report  of  being  parsimonious ;  but  there  is  no  par- 


rDLE  PROFUSION. 


Ill 


simonv  in  reluctance  to  enforce  undue  and  unwise  impositions 
on  those  committed  to  his  charge,  nor  in  grudging  the  profusion 
in  useless  and  idle  splendors,  of  riches  which  might  have  em¬ 
battled  armies,  or,  in  the  day  of  need,  have  propped  a  falling 
empire.  He  obeyed,  but  murmured  in  obeying.  The  mur¬ 
murs,  it  is  said,  reached  the  ears  of  Wolsey,  and  were  not  for¬ 
gotten,  but,  when  accusations  were,  in  after  days,  strong  against 
the  powerful  duke,  even  to  the  endangering  of  his  head,  re¬ 
membered — to  the  loss  of  it. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  willing  as  the  gentlemen  of  England  have 
shown  themselves  at  all  times  to  sacrifice  their  fortunes  and 
even  their  lives  at  the  call  of  their  sovereigns,  there  was  on 
this  occasion  discontent  and  displeasure,  the  deeper  that  they 
were  secret,  among  men  who  had  not  uttered  a  word  of  com¬ 
plaint,  if  they  had  been  called  upon  to  devote  their  all  to  fur¬ 
nish  forth  their  king  to  battle.  Nor  that  unreasonably  j  if,  as 
the  tale  runs,  more  than  one  noble  family  has  to  rue,  even  to 
this  day,  in  their  impoverished  conditioi^Mie  lavish  splendors 
of  the  Field  of  Cloth  of  Gold.  ^ 

In  the  meantime,  Charles  regarde 
picious  eye  the  mighty  preparatioj 
omened,  meeting;  and  used  evd 
astute,  taciturn,  wary  temperanj 
or  effect,  to  frustrate  it.  Wl 
though,  if  historians  may  be  cl 
the  cardinal  over  to  his  side, 


demise  of  Leo  he  would  proc 
partly  by  more  solid  earne 
the  gold  of  pillaged  Mexico  t 
European  nations,  to  bestow 


a  wakeful  and  sus- 
s,  to  him  most  ill- 
d  which  his  close, 
ed  him  to  conceive 
nd  this  impossible, 
had  already  gained 
omises  that  on  the 
be  elected  the  pope, 
r  in  presents,  which 
Spain,  the  richest  of 
iy  than  any  othe* 


112 


MARY  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 


power,  he  wisely  determined  to  turn  to  his  own  favor  that 
which  he  could  not  prevent. 

Taking  occasion,  therefore,  of  a  visit  from  Spain  to  his  Neth¬ 
erlandish  provinces,  which  it  is  believed  was  devised  only  for 
the  purpose  to  which  he  turned  it,  he  resolved  to  pay  Henry 
and  his  aunt,  of  Arragon,  the  distinguished  honor  of  waiting 
upon  them  in  their  own  dominions,  and  timed  his  arrival  so 
well,  that  the  Spanish  ships  anchored  at  Ilythe,  on  the  very 
day  in  which  Henry  entered  Canterbury  on  his  progress  to 
the  coast.  This  preconcerted,  but  seemingly  accidental,  meet 
ing  was  celebrated  with  great  feasts  and  rejoicings  in  that  an¬ 
cient  and  venerable  city,  to  which  he  repaired  on  his  uncle’s 
invitation ;  i:  where  he  gladly  saw  his  Aunt  Katharine ;  the 
queen  dowager  of  France,*  also,  once  proposed  for  his  wife, 
seemed  very  considerable,  as  being  for  her  beauty  much  cele¬ 
brated  by  the  English  and  French  writers.  And,  if  we  may 
believe  Polydore,  his  passion  in  seeing  of  her  was  such  as  he 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  dance,  and  kept  that  Spanish  grav¬ 
ity,  which,  in  his  age  and  among  such  company,  might  well 
have  been  laid  aside.”  f 

As  1  have  said  before,  the  credit  of  Polydore  Virgil  is  much 
more  than  doubtful ;  but  it  may  be  a  little  interesting  to  those 
who  look  into  individual  history,  as  wherein  to  find  the  clues 
to  the  history  of  the  world,  to  note  the  supposed  effects  and 
influences  of  the  beauty  of  this  four-times  betrothed,  twice- 
wedded  and  historically  almost  unknown,  Mary,  on  the  fates 
of  nations,  during  one  of  the  most  eventful  periods,  if  not  the 
most  eventful,  of  Christendom. 

What  an  era  was  that?  If  Mary,  the  beautiful  sister  of 

•  Mary,  si9ter  of  Henry  VIII,,  widow  of  Louis  XII.  of  France,  duohess  of  Suffolk, 
t  Herbert,  fol.  T9. 


HENRY  S  HOUSE  AT  GUISNES. 


113 


Henry,  “the  defender  of  the  faith,”  had  been  the  wife  of  Charles,  i 
the  emperor,  and  “the  most  Catholic  king,” — if  Wolsey  had, 
in  compliance  with  the  engagements  of  Charles,  been  pope,  af¬ 
ter  Leo  X.,  in  lieu  of  Adrian,  would  England  have,  this  day, 
been  Lutheran  or  Romau  ?  W ould  “ gospel  light  have  dawned 
from  Anna’s  eyes?”  Would  More  and  Fisher  have  died, 
Catholics,  at  the  stake,  to  recreate  England  Protestant?  Would 
Mary,  the  niece  of  that  Mary,  have  descended  to  posterity  as 
“  the  bloody,”  or  ascended  the  throne  of  Catholic  England,  as 
its  most  Catholic  queen? 

During  this  visit,  which  lasted  only  four  days,  Charles  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  succeeded  in  establishing  himself  firmly,  in  both 
Henry’s  and  his  minister’s  good  graces,  and  then  “having 
passed  over  the  Whitsontide  holidays,  in  those  sports  and  enter 
tainments  which  our  king  gave  him,  he  departs  to  Sandwich  the 
29th  of  May,  1520,  whence  taking  ship  May  30,  he  arrived  in 
his  native  country  of  Flanders,  while  our  king  the  same  day 
passed  to  Dover;  and  thence,  May  31,  with  all  his  train  and 
company,  to  Calais.”*  On  the  4th  of  June,  the  king,  the  two 
queens  of'  England,  and  the  dowager  of  France,  and  their  suite, 
proceeded  to  Guisnes,  where  they  took  up  their  abode  in  a 
splendid  palace  of  wood-work,  framed  in  England  and  sent  out 
by  sea  for  erection,  forming  a  square  of  three  hundred  and 
twenty  feet,  adorned  within  and  without,  with  tapestries  of 
arras,  hangings  of  silk  and  satin,  in  short,  every  luxurious  dec¬ 
oration,  which  the  art  of  the  times  could  accomplish,  or  their 
prodigality  desire.  In  front  of  this  splendid  structure,  daz¬ 
zling  with  glass  and  gilding, f  played  two  fountains,  the  one  of 
wine,  the  other  of  hypocras ;  and  above  it  was  displayed  the 
figure  of  an  English  archer — a  savage,  he  is  called  by  Lord 

•  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  80.  t  Mennechet  Hist.  France,  ii.  74. 

8 


114 


THE  FIELD  OF  CLOTH  OF  GOLD. 


Herbert ,  probably  using  the  word  in  the  sense  of  forester  or 
woodman — drawing  a  cloth-yard  arrow  to  the  head,  with  the 
vaunting  motto,  “  cui  adhcereo  protest.”  The  king  of  France, 
on  the  contrary,  was  lodged  in  tents  only,  as  being  farther  re¬ 
moved  from  his  capital,  but,  to  compensate,  they  were  entirely 
made  of  cloth  of  gold,  with  balls  and  other  devices  surmount¬ 
ing  them  of  solid  bullion. 

Before'the  meeting  of  the  kings,  it  seems  that  Wolsey  vis¬ 
ited  Francis  privately,  and  remained  two  days  his  guest,  du¬ 
ring  which  time  the  treaty  of  eternal  amity,  as  it  was  called, 
between  the  two  monarchs  was  ratified,  and  the  betrothal  of 
the  royal  children,  the  infant  dauphin  and  the  baby  princess, 
Mary,  finally  arranged,  Francis  agreeing  to  pay  to  Henry, 
over  and  above  the  million  of  crowns  stipulated  in  1515,  and 
his  heirs  forever,  in  case  the  marriage  should  be  concluded  and 
the  dauphin  become  in  right  of  his  wife  king  of  England,  an 
annual  pension  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  of  the  sun. 

This  treaty -to  the  performance  of  which  both  monarchs 
swore  on  the  holy  evangelists,  having  with  their  queens  parta 
ken  of  the  eucharisf  in  common— which  never  was  performed 
at  all,  and  which  one  of  the  parties,  Henry,  probably  never  in¬ 
tended  to  perform,  had  eternity  assigned  to  it,  as  its  duration. 
It  was  stricken  on  the  sixth  day  of  June,  1 520,  and  broken,  by 
Henry’s  formal  declaration  of  war  against  Francis,  on  the  nine¬ 
teenth  day  of  the  same  month,  in  1522.  Such  is  the  faith  of 
kings,  and  so  justly  is  it  written,  “put  not  your  trust  in  prin¬ 
ces  !”  Such  is  the  durability  of  treaties. 

On  the  following  day,  at  the  sound  of  a  culverin,  the  two 
royal  processions  set  forth,  the  one  from  Guisnes,  the  other 
from  Ardres,  and  met  at  a  place  in  the  valley  of  Andern, 
wnere  a  splendid  pavilion  of  cloth  of  gold  had  been  erected  for 


THE  TOURNAMENTS. 


115 


their  reception.  Here  they  met,  surrounded  by  their  courts, 
blazing  in  embroideries  of  gold,  enriched  with  precious  stones, 
velvets  of  Genoa,  tissues  of  gold  and  silver,  inwoven  with  all 
gorgeous  hues,  so  that,  to  borrow  the  words  of  the  old  French 
chronicler,  “  there  were  many  there  who  carried  on  their  backs 
their  mills,  their  meadows,  and  their  forests.”  The  kings  dis¬ 
mounted,  embraced,  and  walked  arm  in  arm  into  the  splendid 
pavillion  provided  for  them,  and  professed  each  for  the  other 
the  warmest  and  most  affectionate  regard ;  yet  all  within  this 
harmonious  and  fraternal  show  was  empty  hollowness  and  dark 
suspicion.  Rumors  of  intended  treachery  were  constantly  rife 
and,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  treason,  the  attendants  were 
carefully  numbered  on  both  sides,  the  kings  left  their  residences 
at  one  and  the  same  appointed  moment,  visited  their  respective 
queens  at  the  same  time  and  spot  previously  appointed,  and  that 
simultaneously.  In  all  respects,  these  royal  friends  comported 
themselves,  one  to  the  other,  rather  as  belligerents  during  a 
brief  armistice,  than  as,  which  they  professed  to  be,  mutual  ad¬ 
mirers,  and,  if  rivals,  rivals  only  in  the  pursuit  of  the  same 
phantom  quarry,  glory.  Still,  during  fourteen  days,  the  ban¬ 
queting,  -the  revelry,  the  dance  by  night,  and  by  day  tae  su¬ 
perb  tournament  with  the  shock  of  barded  steeds,  the  shiver¬ 
ing  of  no  pointless  weapons  but  of  stout  ashen  lances  with  heads 
of  the  best  Bourdeau  steel,  the  clash  and  clangor  of  steel  coats 
and  Milan  casques,  the  rolling  of  gallant  knights  in  the  dust, 
horse  and  man,  before  the  eyes  of  queens  and  princesses,  and  all 
the  peerless  aristocracy  of  female  beauty,  among  the  fanfares 
of  trumpets,  and  the  cn  of  herald  and  king-at-arms,  “  Fight 
on,  brave  cavaliers.  Man  dies,  but  glory  lives  forever  !”  went 
on  unwearied  and  unbroken.  On  every  occasion  the  two  kings 
appeared  in  fresh  and  equal  splendor ;  on  every  occasion  they 


116 


THE  TOURNAMENTS. 


excelled  all,  save  one  another.  On  each  day,  each  monarch 
ran  five  courses  with  grinded  spears,  or  fought  at  barriers  with 
sharp  swords,  and  on  each  day,  each  bore  down,  or  foiled,  his 
five  antagonists.  It  is  as  vain  to  imagine,  as  it  would  be  false 
to  represent,  that  these  mighty  princes  owed  their  success  to 
the  complaisance  of  their  opponents,  rather  than  to  their  own 
skill  and  prowess.  Those  were,  still,  hard  and  fierce  and  yet 
chivalric  days,  when  such  a  king  as  Francis,  on  one  of  his  own 
fields  of  immortal  victory,  craved  knighthood,  as  an  honor,  of 
a  simple  French  cavalier,  even  if  that  cavalier  were  sans  peur 
et  sans  reproche,  even  if  his  name  were  Bayard ;  and  it  is  prob¬ 
able  that  the  suspicion  of  not  putting  forth  all  his  force  against 
a  kingly  antagonist  would  have  purchased  for  the  flatterer,  even 
if  one  could  be  found  willing  to  flatter  at  the  imminent  risk 
of  losing  his  own  life,  and  earning  by  adulation  the  extra  honor 
of  royal  immolation,  not  favor,  but  the  reverse ;  as  if  he  pre¬ 
sumed  to  regard  his  monarch  as  a  mere  carpet-knight,  to  be 
spared,  not  as  a  champion^  to  be  encountered  on  equal  terms, 
and  even  so  at  deadly  hazard.  It  must  be  remembered,' that 
Henry  II.,  the  son  of  this  very  Francis,  was  killed  in  a  tourna¬ 
ment  before  the  gates  of  his  own  royal  residence,  by  a  splinter 
from  the  broken  lance  of  Montgomery,  the  captain  of  his  own 
guards.  A  circumstance  which  fully  justified  a  very  common- 
sense  remark  of  a  practical,  clear-headed  Turk,  an  envoy  of  the 
Sublime  Porte,  who,  after  beholding  a  tournament,  at  the  court 
of  Charles  VII.,  quietly  observed — “If  this  be  meant  for  fun, 
there’s  a  little  too  much  of  the  thing; if  for  earnest,  not  quite 
enough!”*  It  must  be  remembered  that  Francis  himself,  be¬ 
fore  he  was  unhorsed  and  made  prisoner,  in  the  disastrous  bat¬ 
tle  of  Pavia,  killed  seven  men  with  his  own  hand,  and  would 


*  Mennechet,  il.  118 


INTERCOURSE  OE  THE  KINGS. 


117 


have  cut  his  way  through  the  whole  army  of  the  enemy,  had 
not  his  horse  been  shot  under  him,  and  gunpowder,  “  the  grave 
of  valor,”  been  brought  into  play  against  the  lance.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  Henry  was  a  giant  in  frame,  scarcely  in¬ 
ferior  to  his  colossal  grandsire,  the  fourth  Edward;  that  he 
was  as  yet  a  young  man,  and  unencumbered  with  the  fat,  which 
in  his  later  years  rendered  him  unwieldy;  that  he  was  the  lin¬ 
eal  descendant  of  the  iron  race  of  the  Plantagenets,  as  well  as 
of  the  fiery  Tudors ;  that  the  blood  of  Cceur  de  Lion  was  hot 
in  his  veins,  and  his  example  ever  in  his  mind ;  that  he  was 
acknowledged  unequivocally  to  stand  among  the  best  men-at- 
arms  of  his  own  warlike  nation,  if  not  the  very  best.  And, 
these  things  borne  in  mind,  it  will  not  be  too  much  to  believe 
that  these  generous  and  gallant  princes,  were,  in  deed  and  not 
in  word,  the  first  as  in  rank,  so  in  prowess  and  place  among 
the  spears. 

On  one  occasion,  Francis,  whose  more  impulsive  and  chivalric 
spirit  revolted  against  the  narrow  suspicions  which  had  sur¬ 
rounded  and  confined  the  intercourse  of  himself  and  his  brother 
king  with  a  network  of  ceremonials,  formulas,  and  precautions 
against  that  most  atrocious  of  felonies,  treason  under  trust, 
made  an  effort  to  break  through  the  unworthy  and  ungenerous 
restrictions  which  he  felt  to  be  in  themselves  disgraceful ;  and, 
taking  horse  with  a  small  train  of  geutlemen,  at  an  early  hour 
of  the  morning,  galloped  into  Henry’s  camp  at  Guisnes,  and 
surprised  the  king  with  a  visit  before  he  had  left  his  chamber, 
calling  out  jocosely  that  he  and  all  his  men  were  prisoners. 
Henry  affected  to  be  charmed  with  his  frankness,  taking  him 
in  his  arms  and  exclaiming  that  he  surrendered  at  discretion. 
An  exchange  of  gifts  of  jewelry  followed,  in  which  the  present 
of  the  French  king  as  much  excelled  his  rival’s  as  did  the  gen 


118 


THE  EMPEROR  AT  CALAIS. 


erosity  of  his  heart  and  the  frankness  of  his  nature ;  and,  on 
the  ensuing  day,  Henry,  unwilling  to  be  outdone  in  the  outward 
shows  and  forms  of  noble-mindedness,  rode  over  in  the  like 
manner  to  visit  his  “  well-beloved  brother”  in  his  lines  at 
Ardres. 

It  is  not,  however,  by  such  courtesies  as  these  that  national 
jealousies  are  stilled,  or  national  hostilities  pacified.  It  was  re¬ 
marked  by  all,  that,  though  the  solemn  passage  at  arms  had 
been  proclaimed  in  the  courts  of  Burgundy  and  Spain,  no 
knight  of  the  emperor’s  was  present  in  arms  to  do  honor  to 
the  conference  of  the  kings;  and  it  said  that  Francis,  in  his  re¬ 
sentment  at  the  affront,  was  so  unwise  as  to  countenance,  if 
not  command,  an  attack,  which  proved  no  more  fortunate  than 
it  was  fair  in  time  of  peace. 

When  the  long  series  of  idle  displays,  worse  than  profitless 
expences,  wearisome  pomps,  and  heartless  professions  was  at 
last  ended,  the  kings  embraced  with  mutual  expressions  of 
good  will  and  declarations  of  sincere  amity,  but  with  doubt, 
distrust,  and  jealousy  rankling  at  their  hearts,  more  bitterly 
than  before  their  meeting,  and  ready  at  the  slightest  spark  to 
blaze  out  into  open  enmity.  These  feelings,  on  the  part  of 
Francis,  were  not  likely  to  be  much  assuaged  by  his  learning 
that  immediately  after  bidding  himself  farewell,  between  Ar¬ 
dres  and  Guisnes,  Henry  set  out,  though  without  the  queen 
or  the  noblest  of  his  train,  to  Gravelines  on  the  Waal,  there  to 
return  to  his  nephew,  the  emperor,  the  honor  he  had  done  him 
by  visiting  him  in  England,  and  reconducted  him  to  Calais  with 
great  honor,  to  wait  upon  his  aunt.  This  visit  lasted  three 
days,  and  was  marked  by  the  introduction-in  the  guise  of 
maskers  at  a  grand  entertainment-into  the  presence  of  Charles 
and  Henry, of  la  Roche,  and  certain  French  envoys,  who  read 


queen  clause’s  maids  of  honor. 


119 


aloud  in  their  presence,  the  tripartite  league  formerly  conclu¬ 
ded  between  them  and  Francis,  and  cited  the  Emperor,  then 
and  there  to  ratify  it  with  his  signature.  This  Charles  evaded 
doing,  and  shortly  afterward  departed  into  his  own  dominions, 
though  nopjjJJ .  he  had  thoroughly  captivated  the  vanity,  and 
gained,  for  the  time,  the  capricious  adhesion  of  his  uncle,  by 
nominating  him  the  absolute  umpire  in  all  future  disputes 
which  should  arise  between  himself  and  the  French  monarch. 

An  ominous  anticipation,  truly,  to  follow  so  close  on  the 
heels  of  a  conference  for  concluding  a  treaty  of  eternal  and  in¬ 
dissoluble  amity  ;  and  one  which  Francis,  undoubtedly,  had  no 
difficulty  in  comprehending.  It  was  not  sagacity  in  foreseeing 
the  strokes  of  his  enemy,  nor  brilliancy  in  the  conception,  nor 
splendid  execution  in  delivering  his  own  counterstrokes,  that 
was  wanting  in  Francis;  but  secretiveness  in  regard  to  his 
councils,  continence  of  tongue  and  temper  in  reference  to  their 
disclosure,  and  patience  in  awaiting  the  true  time  for  their  de¬ 
velopment.  The  lack  of  these  qualities,  in  addition  to  his 
splendid  genius,  fiery  imagination,  and  heaven-daring  courage, 
we  should  perhaps  say,  rather  than  in  despite  of  them,  that  laid 
him  open  to  the  far  less  dazzling  adversaries,  whom  he  armed 
against  himself.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  at  this  interview 
Anne  Boleyn  was  present — on  this  point  the  positive  declara¬ 
tion  of  Lord  Herbert  leaves  no  room  for  doubt-as  well,  prob¬ 
ably,  as  Jane  Seymour,  another  embryo  queen  of  England, 
both  officiating  as  maids  of  honor  to  Queen  Claude,  sumamed  ' 
the  Good,  and  therefore  brought  into  the  closest  possible  asso¬ 
ciation  with  the  royalty  of  England.  Miss  Strickland  notices 
this  fact,  but  observes  on  it,  that  the  presence  of  this  young 
lady  was,  as  yet,  of  no  moment  to  the  royal  Katharine,  al¬ 
though  her  mind  had  been  already  somewhat  troubled  by  the 


120 


TEE  MAIDS  OF  HOHOR. 


coquetries” — a  light  word  to  use  in  reference  to  an  almost 
avowed  paramour — “  of  the  other  sister,  Mary  Boleyn,  with 
King  Henry.”  It  is  not,  however,  improbable  that  the  royal 
eye  had  been  attracted  by  both  these  fair  English  maids  of 
honor  of  the  French  queen  ;  since,  when  the  war  broke  out,  a 
year  or  two  later,  they  were  both  summoned  to  vacate  their 
situations  in  the  French  court,  and,  on  their  return,  Anne  was 
appointed  to  the  same  place  in  the  household  of  Katharine 
which  she  had  previously  held  in  that  of  Claude ;  and,  on  her 
advancement  to  the  crown,  Jane  Seymour  occupied  that  very 
position,  and  with  similar  results,  which  she  had  herself  mis¬ 
used  toward  her  right-royal  predecessor. 

Of  this,  however,  more  in  its  proper  place.  Of  the  pomps 
and  splendors  of  the  past  scene  1  could  and  fain  would  dis¬ 
course  somewhat  more  largely  ;  for  I  confess  that  there  is 
something  in  the  mingled  magnificence  and  daring,  the  chiv¬ 
alry,  the  recklessness,  the  splendor,  and  the  risk  of  those  en¬ 
counters,  bygone  and  never  to  return,  which  is  singularly  con¬ 
genial  and  fascinating  to  the  bent  of  my  spirit.  But  a  just  re¬ 
gard  to  my  limits  must  forbid,  and  I  can  only  refer  those  of 
my  readers  who  care  to  read  farther  of  those  gorgeous  days, 
to  the  pictured  pages  of  Holliugshedc  and  Hall,  the  latter  of 
whom  especially  revels  in  the  descriptions  of  those  pomps  and 
pageantries,  even  to  the  dresses  of  the  principal  personages, 
which  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  reproduce  from  his  minute 
and  glowing  portraiture. 

It  was  in  this  year,  and  at  about  this  time,  that  the  dispute 
and  differences  between  Luther  and  his  party,  of  whom  Ulrio 
Zuinglius,  Erasmus,  and  Philip  Melancthou  were  the  most  cel¬ 
ebrated,  and  Pope  Leo  X.,  being  at  their  height,  Charles,  who 
had  been  recently  crowned  emperor  at  Aix,  summoned  the 


HENRY  A  THEOLOGIAN. 


121 


Great  Reformer  to  appear  before  a  diet,  which  he  convoked 
at  Worms,  October,  23,  1520,  giving  him  a  safe  conduct  to 
come  and  go  unmolested.  At  this  diet  Luther  appeared,  still 
wearing  his  friar’s  habit,  for  he  had  not  yet  protested  against 
the  church  itself,  but  only  against  its  abuses ;  and,  refusing  to 
recant  or  retract  his  opinions,  was  proscribed  by  edict,  together 
with  all  his  adherents  and  followers. 

Considering  that  by  this  treatment  he  was  rather  punished 
than  put  in  any  process  of  conviction,  Henry,  who,  now  liber¬ 
ated  from  the  excitements  and  fatigues  of  war  proper,  had  no¬ 
thing,  unless  it  were  polemics,  wherewith  to  occupy  and  amuse 
his  restless,  impatient,  irritable  spirit,  resolved  to  descend  into 
the  lists  controversial,  against  this  champion  of  reform,  fully 
confident  that  he  could  overthrow  him  as  easily  by  the  edge 
of  his  eloquence  and  the  weight  of  his  ponderous  theology,  as 
he  had  beaten  down  military  champions  in  the  tilt-yard  by  the 
more  convincing  arguments  of  battle-axe  and  double-handed 
sword. 

That  Henry  was  a  man  of  talent,  and  even  of  erudition,  ac¬ 
cording  to  his  day,  is  not  to  be  denied ;  and  it  has  ever  ap¬ 
peared  to  me,  that  one  of  the  most  adverse  influences  to  the  for¬ 
mation  of  his  character,  and  one  which  led  to  some  of  the  most 
odious  incidents  in  his  subsequent  career,  was  this — that  he 
had  been  studiously  educated  a  theologian,  with  a  view,  during 
the  lifetime  of  his  brother  Arthur,  to  filling  the  archiepiscopa! 
diocese  of  Canterbury ;  that  he  really  was  more  than  a  tolera¬ 
ble  divine;  and  that,  having  once  got  it  into  his  head  that  he  was 
priest  nearly  as  much  as  king,  he  never  could  divest  himself  of 
the  idea.  Hence,  when  his  quarrel  arose  with  Pope  Clement, 
on  a  question  perfectly  laical  and  unconnected  with  religious 
opinions,  he  aspired  not  to  render  Englan  1  Protestant,  as  some 
F 


122 


DF.  SErTEM  SAC'R  AMEXTI8. 


persons  have  strangely  understood  it,  but  to  erect  a  separata 
Anglican  Catholic  church,  of  which  himself  and  his  heirs  and 
successors  should  be  the  supreme  heads  and  quasi  popes.  It 
was  no  nominal  supremacy  which  he  claimed  to  hold,  as  is 
sufficiently  evident  from  the  fact,  that  in  his  later  persecutions  of 
the  Protestants,  he  did  actually  lay  claim  to  his  own  infallibil¬ 
ity,  whether  he  did  so  in  words  or  not.  It  was  more  the  con¬ 
tumacy  of  the  unhappy  martyrs  in  refusing  to  be  convinced  by 
the  eloquence  and  divinity  of  himself,  the  pontiff-king,  than 
their  heresy  in  rejecting  the.  true  faith,  that  he  punished  with 
the  stake  and  ffigot. 

No  sterile,  title  or  form  of  power  was  that,  which  he  attached 
to  the  crown  of  England  ;  for,  had  he  succeeded  in  carrying 
out  his  will,  and  had  the  supremacy  of  the  church,  which  de¬ 
scended  to  his  heirs,  been  that  supremacy  which  he  intended 
and  understood  it  to  be,  the  sovereign  of  Great  Britain  would 
now  stand  precisely  on  parallel  ground  with  the  Tzar  of  Rus¬ 
sia,  as  absolute  monarch  and  infallible  pope  over  his  own  church 
and  people. 

At  this  time  he  was  friendly  to  Leo ;  and  to  Luther,  beside 
that  he  was  really  averse  to  his  doctrines,  and  offended  at  his 
heresies,  he  was  in  a  manner  personally  hostile,  owing  to  the 
German  monk’s  often  contemptuously  expressed  opinion  against 
Thomas  Aquinas,  “  who  was  in  so  much  request  with  the  king, 
and  especially  the  cardinal  (that  as  Polydore  hath  it)  he  was 
therefore  styled  Thomisticus He  resolved,  therefore,  out 
of  his  love  for  the  pontiff’  his  zeal  for  the  faith,  and  his  hatred 
for  Luther,  to  meet  and  confound  his  arguments  by  solid  force 
of  couuter-argument,  and  so  published  his  book,  entitled  de 
Septem  Sacramentis — a  work  which  so  greatly  “  delighted  the 


*  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  S5. 


DEFENDER  OF  THE  FAITH. 


123 


pope,  that  Dr.  John  Clark,  dean  of  Windsor,  our  kind’s  am¬ 
bassador,  appearing  in  full  consistory,  he,  knowing  the  glorious 
present  he  brought,  first  gave  him  his  foot  and  then  his  cheeks 
to  kiss”* — a  condescension,  which,  it  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped, 
Dr.  John  Clark  and  his  royal  master  duly  appreciated.  What 
is  far  more  curious,  is  this,  that  “  he  promised  to  do  as  much 
tor  approbation  theivof,  to  all  Christian  princes,  as  ever  was  done 
for  St.  Augustine’s  or  St.  Hierome’s  works  ” — and  that  this 
promise  was  fulfilled,  after  it  had  been  privately  debated  by 
the  cardinals,  whether  he  should  be  styled  Protector  or  De¬ 
fensor  Romance  ecclesite,  or  sedis  Apostolicce,  or  Rex  Apostol¬ 
ic  us,  or  orthodoxies ,  by  conferring  on  him  the  title  of  Defender 
of  the  Faith — a  title  which,  strange  to  say,  is  still  borne  by 
the  sovereigns  of  England — when,  so  tar  from  defending  that 
faith,  it  is  a  condition  of  their  ascending  the  throne  that  they 
shall  not  even  hold  to  it. 

King  Henry’s  book,  de  Seplem  Sacramenlis,  1  have  never 
read,  and  most  assuredly  never  intend  to  read ;  so  that  1  nei¬ 
ther  am,  nor  expect  to  be,  prepared  to  give  an  opinion  of  its 
merits  or  demerits ;  neither  have  I  ever  met  with  any  criti¬ 
cism,  pro  or  con.  I  judge  from  this,  however,  that  it  was  su¬ 
perior  to  regal  authorship  in  general,  and  that  it  must  have  hit 
the  great  reformer  pretty  hard,  since  it  put  him  into  such  a 
towering  passion  that  he  wrote  a  reply  to  it,  in  which,  “  after 
allotting  to  the  king  no  other  praise  than  that  of  writing  in  ele¬ 
gant  language,”  he  declared  that,  “  in  all  other  respects,  he  was 
a  fool  and  an  ass,  a  blasphemer  and  a  liar.”f  For  this  disre¬ 
spect  to  a  king,  which  the  German  princes,  who  protected  him, 
naturally  enough  considered  an  insult  to  royalty  itself,  Luther 


*  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  85. 


t  Lardner,  Hist  liig.  vL  105. 


124 


AN  ANGLICAN  CHURCH. 


7 


was  compelled,  afterward,  to  apologise  in  print.  But  I  doubt 
whether  the  apology  would  have  much  availed  the  reformer, 
had  he  ever  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  the  royal  theologian ; 
and  I  think  I  can  discover  in  all  his  dealings  with  the  pro¬ 
fessors  of  the  new  faith,  whom  he  persecuted  so  rancorously, 
something  of  personal  animosity,  something  of  the  jealous  dis 
putant,  as  when  he  publicly  argued  with  the  unhappy  Lam 
bert  before  committing  him  to  the  flames,  rather  than  simply 
the  cruel  bigot  and  despotical  king. 

That  he  regarded  the  contumacy  of  his  heretics,  in  differing 
from  his  opinions,  refusing  to  conform  to  his  example,  and  be 
convinced  by  his  arguments,  as  a  more  vital  offence  than  adhe¬ 
ring  to  the  new  learning,  is,  it  appeal's  to  me,  evident  from  all 
his  conduct  in  reference  to  the  reform  ;  and  that  this  state  of 
mind  is  partly  to  be  attributed  to  the  effect  of  his  early  dispu¬ 
tation  with  Luther  himself,  and  partly  to  his  overweening  esti¬ 
mate  of  his  own  condition  as  a  divine,  arising  from  his  church 
education.  Young  plants  easily  receive  a  deflexion  to  this  side 
or  that,  which,  when  their  growth  is  once  confirmed,  can  never 
again  be  reflexed.  Ilad  Henry  not  been  destined  for  an  arch 
bishop  of  Canterbury,  he  never,  I  fancy,  would  have  dreamed  of 
becoming  supreme  head  of  au  Anglican  church — perhaps  would 
never  have  been  a  persecuting  king,  though  this  is  more  doubt 
ful.  But  in  his  very  boyhood  he  had  acquired  a  knowledge  of 
ecclesiastical  power,  a  taste  for  ecclesiastical  letters,  and  he  had 
seized  au  idea  that  he  was  to  be  the  head  of  the  English  church. 
Au  idea,  which  he  once  grasped,  he  never  again  let  go;  and  so 
he  would  be,  and  so  he  was,  at  last,  the  supreme  head,  not  of 
the  church  of  England,  but  of  the  Anglican  church.  This  last 
difference  must  be  borne  in  mind,  and  insisted  on  throughout 
this  reign :  for,  m  the  latter  part  of  it  especially,  we  shall  find 


DIVISIONS  IN  THE  CHURCH. 


125 


three  distinct  parties, — the  adherents  of  the  old  faith,  the  Pa¬ 
pists  of  the  Roman  communion,  whom  Henry  hanged  and  be¬ 
headed  for  denying  his  own  supremacy,  the  reformers  of  the 
new  faith,  or  Protestants,  whom  he  roasted  for  disputing  the 
real  presence  and  rejecting  five  of  the  seven  sacraments,  and 
the  Anglicans,  as.Jn  default  of  a  better  title,  1  shall  designate 
them;  for  it  is  absurd  to  call  those  Papists,  who  abjured  the 
pope ;  or  Romans,  who  would  have  London,  not  Rome,  the 
seat  of  church  government ;  and  Catholics  it  is  monstrous  to 
style  them — since  Catholic,  or  universal,  they  never  have  been, 
and,  by  the  grace  of  God,  never  shall  be — who  held  to  the 
faith  of  Rome  in  every  particular,  except  that  they  would 
have  an  English,  not  a  Roman,  pontiff,  and  that  pontiff,  king. 

This  triple  division  certainly  worked  well  for  the  reforma¬ 
tion  ;  since  there  were  clearly  none  who  honestly  wished  for  an 
Anglican  church  and  an  English  pontiff-king;  and  those  who  pro¬ 
fessed  to  do  so,  did  so  only  from  fear  of  the  king’s  vengeance, 
or  from  the  desire  to  win  his  favor;  and  these  men,  the  link 
which  bound  them  to  Rome  once  broken,  never  returned  to 
the  bondage  they  had  once  shaken  off;  but,  when  the  empty 
dream  of  an  Anglican  church  of  St.  Peter  sank  into  oblivion, 
joined  the  reformers,  and  became  the  germ  of  the  extreme 
high  church  party  in  the  church  of  England. 

Immediately  after  this  disputation  followed  the  tragical  af¬ 
fair  of  the  great  Duke  of  Buckingham ;  an  affair  which  it  is  by 
no  means  easy  to  comprehend  or  unravel,  since  the  duke’s  con¬ 
duct  is  clearly  not  free  from  suspicion  of  disloyalty  and  even 
treason ;  while  yet  there  seems  to  have  been  a  want  of  sufficient 
proof  to  establish  the  crime  for  which  he  suffered,  although 
the  compassing  the  king’s  death  by  words  alone,  without  the 
commission  of  any  overt  act,  was  in  that  age  held  to  justify 


12  G 


WOLSEY  AND  THE  DUKE. 


conviction.  His  death,  it  appears,  was  generally,  by  the  com 
mons,  at  the  time  charged  on  Wolsey;  but  Wolsey  was  then  an 
unpopular,  and  soon  after  a  fallen  minister;  and  so  much  is  evi¬ 
dently  charged  on  him  without  any  grounds,  that  one  is  apt  to 
require  positive  proof  against  him,  which  I  do  not  find  here,  he. 
fore  finding  him  guilty.  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  who,  as 
[  have  said  before,  follows  Polydorc  Virgil,  the  cardinal’s  worst 
enemy,  says  that  Wolsey  had  determined  on  his  destruction 
from  the  hour  of  his  murmuring  at  the  vast  expences  entailed 
on  him  by  his  compelled  presence  at  the  Field  of  Cloth  of 
Gold ;  and  there  is  this  corroboration  of  that  fact,  that  Sir 
Charles  Knevet,  the  steward  whom  he  had  dismissed  on  that 
occasion,  in  consequence  of  the  complaints  of  his  tenants,  who 
seems  to  have  been  subsequently  in  the  cardinal’s  employ¬ 
ment*  and  Sir  William  Bulmer,  a  knight  who  had  quitted  the 
king’s  household,  had  been  taken  into  that  of  the  duke,  for 
which  disrespect  that  nobleman  had  been  so  far  disgraced  that 
there  was  even  a  talk  of  committing  him  to  the  tower,  were 
the  principal  witnesses  against  him. 

I  find,  in  Miss  Strickland’s  interesting  work  on  the  queens 
of  England,  the  following  remarkable  anecdote,  but  she  finis  to 
indicate  its  source,  which  I  have  been  unable  to  discover  ;  and, 
as  it  appears  to  have  been  unknown  either  to  Hume  or  Lin- 
gard,  neither  of  whom  allude  to  it,  I  cannot  judge  of  its  value 
as  authority.  It  is,  however,  curious,  and  in  consideration  of 
the  proverb  that  “  where  is  much  smoke  there  must  needs  be 
some  fire,”  I  quote  it,  inasmuch  as,  if  it  prove  nothing  else,  it 
does  prove  the  generalness  of  the  belief,  that  the  duke  fell  a 
victim  to  the  cardinal’s  enmity  rather  than  to  hk  own  crim¬ 
inality. 

"•  Queen  Katharine  and  Cardinal  Wolsey,”  says  the  fair  au 


THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 


12'/ 

thoress,  “had  lived  in  the  greatest  harmony  till  this  time, 
when  his  increasing  personal  pride  urged  him  to  conduct  which 
wholly  deprived  him  of  her  esteem.  One  day  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham  was  holding  the  basin  for  the  king  to  wash,  when 
it  pleased  the  cardinal  to  put  in  his  hands.  The  royal  blood 
of  the  duke  rose  in  indignation,  and  he  flung  the  water  in  Wol- 
sey’s  shoes,  who,  with  a  revengeful  scowl,  promised  Bucking¬ 
ham  ‘  that  he  would  sit  on  his  skirts.’  The  duke  treated  this 
as  a  joke,  for  he  came  to  court  in  a  jerkin,  and  being  asked  by 
the  king  the  reason  of  this  odd  costume,  he  replied  that  ‘  it  was 
to  prevent  the  cardinal  from  executing  his  threat,  for  if  he  wore 
no  skirts  they  could  not  be  sat  upon.’  ” 

Whatever  be  the  truth  of  this  anecdote,  or  the  facts  of  Wol- 
sey’s  enmity  to  the  duke,  it  nevertheless  would  seem  to  be 
proved  that  Buckingham  had  been  guilty  of  such  imprudences, 
to  call  them  by  no  lighter  name,  and  had  committed  himself 
so  strangely  in  speeches,  showing  that  he  looked  forward  to 
the  king’s  death,  without  issue,  as  a  desirable  contingency,  which 
might  have  the  effect  of  raising  himself  to  the  vacant  throne, 
as  might  well  have  excited  the  suspicions  and  even  the  fears 
of  a  king  less  jealous,  suspicious,  and  vindictive  than  he  whom 
he  had  unfortunately  aroused. 

“  The  duke  was  descended,”  says  Lord  Herbert,  “  from  Anne 
Plantagenet,  daughter  of  Thomas  of  Woodstock ;  ”  says  Lingard, 
“from  Edward  III.,  both  through  John  of  Ghent,  duke  of  Lancas¬ 
ter,  and  Thomas  of  Woodstock,  duke  of  Gloucester.”  Tie  was 
not,  it  is  true,  a  very  near  kinsman  to  Henry ;  nor  was  his 
chance  of  succession  more  than  remote,  to  speak  the  m  jst  fa¬ 
vorably  of  it.  Yet  it  was  a  hereditary  characteristic  of  the 
jealous  house  of  Tudor  to  look  with  the  utmost  suspicion  on 
their  collateral  kindred  ;  and,  on  the  smallest  pretext  of  their 


128 


THE  PROPHECIES  OF  HOPKINS. 


compassing  the  crown,  to  take  them  off  as  summarily  as  if 
they  had  been  the  brothers  of  an  Ottoman  emperor.  Henry’s 
®wn  father  had  sent  Edward  Plantagenet,  the  earl  of  Warwick, 
the  last  male  of  that  noble  race,  to  the  block  without  even  the  al¬ 
legation  of  a  crime ;  for  no  other  reason  thau  that  Ferdinand  of 
Spain,  when  Katharine’s  hand  was  asked  for  Arthur,  Henry’s 
elder  brother,  demurred  to  granting  it,  on  the  ground  that  so 
long  as  there  existed  an  heir  male  of  the  name  of  Plantagenet, 
the  crown  was  not  secure  to  the  house  of  Tudor. 

That  sufficed  to  slay  Warwick. 

Henry  himself  had  beheaded  Edmund  de  la  Pole,  earl  of 
Suffolk,  for  no  other  cause  than  that  his  brother  Richard  had 
assumed,  in  France,  the  badge  of  the  White  Rose,  as  if  he  were 
the  heir  of  York,  thus  disputing  the  throne  with  Tudor. 

And  there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt,  that  without  any  in¬ 
stigation  on  the  cardinal’s  part,  though  probably  his  instigation 
was  not  wanting,  Henry  would  himself  have  pursued  Bucking 
ham  to  the  block,  on  less  ground  of  suspicion  than  the  unhappy 
nobleman  had  actually  given. 

There  was  at  this  time  a  person,  who  had  made  some  noise 
in  England,  as  a  prophet,  whether  a  visionary  or  an  impostor 
it  does  not  appear,  one  Hopkins,  a  monk  in  the  priory  of  Hen- 
ton,  in  Somersetshire.  This  man  had  by  some  means  excited 
the  cifriosity  of  Buckingham,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  weak, 
indiscreet,  and  garrulous  person ;  and,  having  obtained  access  to 
him,  won  his  full  belief,  by  the  accomplishment  of  two  predic¬ 
tions,  that  Henry  should  gain  much  honor  in  his  first  French 
campaign,  and  that  “  if  the  king  of  Scots  came  to  England 
then,  he  should  never  go  home  again.”  ''  Thereafter,  it  appears, 
by  Buckingham’s  own  admission,  that  he  consulted  this  Hop¬ 
kins  on  several  occasions,  and  assisted  him  liberally  with 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  BUCKINGHAM, 


129 


money ;  and  by  Hopkins’  evidence  it  is  proved,  that  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  these  consultations  was  the  probability  of  the  duke’s  sue 
cession  to  the  throne. 

He  also  said  to  Knevet,  as  it  was  sworn  by  that  person,  on 
the  occasion  of  his  disgrace  in  the  matter  of  Sir  William  Bul- 
mer,  that  “  had  he  been  committed  to  the  tower,  he  would 
have  so  wrought  that  the  principal  doers  thereof  should  not  ^ 
have  great  cause  for  rejoicing.  For  he  would  have  played 
that  part  which  his  father  intended  to  have  put  in  practice 
against  King  Richard  at  Salisbury  ;  who  made  earnest  suit  to 
come  into  the  presence  of  the  king,  which  suit  if  he  might  have 
obtained,  he,  having  a  knife  secretly  about  him,  would  have 
thrust  it  into  the  body  of  King  Richard,  as  he  had  made  sem¬ 
blance  to  kneel  down  before  him.”*  He  stated,  moreover,  to 
Sir  George  Nevil,  lord  Abergavenny,  “  that  if  the  king  died, 
he  would  have  the  whole  rule  of  the  realm  in  spite  of  whoever 
said  the  contrary,  swearing  that  if  the  Lord  Abergavenny  re 
vealed  this  he  would  fight  him.’”f 

There  is  no  pretence  brought  forward  that  he  was  not  tried 
fairly ;  indeed,  unusual  impartiality  would  seem  to  have  been 
used  in  this  case,  which  was  tried  by  a  duke,  a  marquis,  seven 
earls,  and  twelve  barons.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  whose  son, 
the  Earl  of  Surrey,  was  married  to  Buckingham’s  daughter, 
was  created  lord  steward,  in  order  to  preside ;  which,  as  he 
may  be  presumed  friendly  to  the  prisoner,  assuredly  argues 
no  desire  to  deal  with  him  unjustly.  The  witnesses  were 
confronted  with  the  prisoner,  which  was  rarely  the  case  in 
this  reign,  and  when  Norfolk  delivered  the  sentence  it  was  not 
without  tears. 


*  Horbert  of  Cherbnry,  fol.  8T. 

F* 


t  Ibidem. 

9 


ISO 


DEATH  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 


In  answer  to  his  sentence  he  professed  that  he  never  had 
been  a  traitor,  declared  that  he  had  nothing  against  his  judges, 
prayed  God  to  pardon  them  his  death,  even  as  he  did,  and  de¬ 
clining  to  beg  his  life,  left  himself  to  the  king’s  disposal,  and 
died  as  he  had  lived,  a  gentleman.  He  was  accordingly  be¬ 
headed,  the  other  revolting  particulars  of  a  traitor’s  doom  be¬ 
ing  remitted  to  him.  “  Thus  ended  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
much  lamented  by  the  people,  who  libelled  the  cardinal  for  it, 
calling  him  carnijicis  jilium ,  as  being  thought  rather  criminal 
through  folly  and  rash  words,  than  any  intention  declared  by 
overt  act  against  the  king’s  person,  and  therefore  not  uncapable 
of  mercy  ;  which  also  it  was  thought  would  not  have  been  de¬ 
nied,  had  he  sued  for  it  in  fitting  terms.”  *  According  to  mod 
ern  ideas,  and  to  the  law  as  it  exists  at  present,  he  was  an  in 
nocent  man,  unjustly  sacrificed ;  but  in  his  own  day  there  is 
no  doubt  that  his  sentence  was  legal,  and  that  his  condemna¬ 
tion  and  execution  were  both  within  the  reasons  of  the  statute 
and  the  usual  practice  in  such  cases.  In  later  days  of  the  same 
reign,  nobles  and  noble  ladies  were  brought  to  the  block,  for 
no  farther  offence  than  quartering  royal  bearings  with  their 
own,  where  the  right  to  do  was  doubtful.  The  suggestion, 
however,  that  Henry  would  have  pardoned  the  duke  on  any 
suit  of  his  own,  or  at  any  intercession  of  others,  appears  to  me 
no  less  gratuitous  than  the  attempt  to  cast  the  blame  of  his 
death  on  the  cardinal,  who  has  enough  reproaches  to  bear, 
justly  thrown  on  him,  without  fathering  on  him  others,  in 
which  he  has  no  share.  Miss  Strickland,  quoting  Godwin  and 
Shakspere,  would  have  us  to  believe  that  Queen  Katharine  did 
make  strenuous  intercession  for  the  duke,  and  tint,  ‘-after  use¬ 
lessly  pleading  for  him  with  the  king,  she  did  not  conceal  her 


•  Herbert  of  Cberbury,  foL  87. 


henry’s  succession. 


131 


opinion  of  Wolsey’s  conduct  in  the  business.”  It  is  evident, 
also,  that  she  attributes  to  this  supposed  disagreement  and 
rupture  Wolsey’s  subsequent  hostility  to  herself  and  her 
nephew,  Charles  V. ;  but  not  only  does  this  lack  confirmation, 
but  it  can  actually  be  denied ;  since  Wolsey  was  balancing  be¬ 
tween  the  emperor  and  Francis,  and  had  nearly  inclined  the 
king,  his  master,  to  declare  war  on  France,  and  knit  ties  not 
only  of  amity  but  of  consanguity  with  Spain,  until  the  death 
of  Leo  X.,  and  the  election  of  Adrian  showed  him  that  he  had 
been  tricked  with  false  promises  by  Charles 

The  fact  is,  that  Buckingham  has  little  claim  on  our  sympa¬ 
thies.  He  died  a  victim  assuredly  to  the  stringency  of  the 
statute  of  treason,  to  the  jealous  state-policy  of  England,  this 
last  in  some  degree  palliated  if  not  excused  by  the  cruel  wars 
which  had  so  long  devastated  the  land  and  decimated  the  ba¬ 
rons  in  consequence  of  the  jarring  pretensions  of  royal  houses 
and  would-be  royal  heirs,  and  in  some  degree  to  the  jealous 
and  unforgiving  temper  of  Henry  himself. 

It  must  also  be  remembered,  that  this  point  of  succession 
was  an  extremely  sore  subject  with  Henry.  Heirs  male  were 
ever  his  grand  desiderata;  and  it  is  more  than  possible  that, 
had  the  sons  of  Queen  Katharine  lived  and  promised  hearty 
health,  Anne  Boleyti  never  had  succeeded  to  her  honors,  while 
she  was  yet  alive;  and  that,  if  Anne’s  child,  Elizabeth,  had 
been  as  masculine  in  sex  as  she  proved  afterward  to  be  in  soul, 
her  mother  would  never  have  ,  made  way  for  Jane  Seymour, 
by  the  brief  and  bloody  passage  from  the  tower  to  the  grave. 

To  all  mortals  there  is  a  natural  desire  for  sons,  who  shall 
transmit  the  name  at  least  of  the  father  to  posterity.  The 
larger  the  possessions  and  the  brighter  the  honors  to  be  handed 
down,  the  more  urgent  becomes  that  desire.  When  it  is  the 


132 


STATE  REASONS. 


question  of  an  empire,  and  when  the  translation  of  that  empire 
peacely,  lawfully,  and  among  the  happiness  of  the  people,  or 
bloodily,  anarchically,  and  with  the  devastation  of  fields  and 
the  conflagration  of  cities,  is  the  point  at  issue,  it  is  clear  to  me 
that  a  monarch  may,  not  only  humanly  and  naturally,  but  law¬ 
fully  and  patriotically, besiege  heaven  with  prayers  for  lawful 
issue  male ;  and  use  any  weapon,  which  the  law  gives  into 
his  hands,  in  order  to  preserve  the  succession  to  his  own  law¬ 
ful  line,  and  to  bequeath  peace  to  the  nation  confided  to  his 
charge.  x 

Henry  had,  at  this  timejno  heir  male,  \o  hope  of  having 
any.  Buckingham  had  announced  ms  intention  of  claiming 
the  crown,  should  Henry  die  childless ;  and,  when  we  con¬ 
sider  the  fact,  that  since  the  conquest  but  one  woman,  Matilda, 
had  ever  succeeded  to  the  throne,  and  she  only  to  have  it  dis¬ 
puted  through  twenty  years  of  civil  war  at  the  sword’s  point, 
we  cannot  wonder,  or  much  blame  that  king,  if  he  merely  en¬ 
forced  the  law,  without  granting  mercy,  which  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  asked,  either  directly  or  vicariously,  for  the 
eujprit. 

f  If  Henry  had  no  blacker  stain  of  bloodshed,  registered 
against  his  name,  than  this  of  Buckingham,  he  would  not  figure 
on  the  page  of  history  as  the  sanguinary  tyrant,  we  now  see 
him  painted;  nor,  if  Wolsey  had  never  counselled  anything 
more  evil  than  his  taking  off,  even  if  he  did  counsel  it,  which 
is  not  proven,  would  he  have  had  cause  to  repent  him  that 
he  had  not  served  his  heavenly,  as  he  had  his  earthly,  king 
and  master. 

The  unhappy  Buckingham  had  not  long  expiated  his  offence 
by  his  blood,  before  Europe  was  again  kindled  into  flame  by 
the  fiery  ambition  of  Francis,  at  the  very  moment,  moreover, 


OUTBREAKING  OF  THE  WAR. 


133 


when  Charles  and  Henry  were  secretly  devising  plans  for  ere 
ating  a  rupture,  in  order  to  favor  the  English  king’s  cherished 
object  of  reconquering  France,  and  replacing  on  his  head  the 
more  than  half-won  diadem,  which  had  been  wrested  from  the 
feeble  hands  of  his  sixth  namesake  and  predecessor.  Before, 
however,  their  plans  were  matured,  making  the  restitution  of 
the  kingdom  of  Navarre  to  its  rightful  owners  his  pretext,  and 
taking  occasion  of  a  revolt  in  Spain  against  Charles  as  his  oc¬ 
casion,  Francis  hurried  his  armies  across  the  Pyrenees,  and, 
within  fifteen  days,  drove  every  Spaniard  out  of  the  territories 
of  that  kingdom  ;  but  when  he  pressed  his  advantages  a\d 
pushed  his  forces  forward  to  Logrono,  in  Castille,  the  insi  r- 
gents  rallied  to  the  banners  of  their  king,  drove  back  the  inv  i- 
ders,  and  recovered  Navarre,  even  more  rapidly  than  it  la-d 
been  taken. 

At  the  same  time,  De  la  Marque,  duke  of  Bouillon,  was  in¬ 
cited  by  Francis  to  invade  the  Netherlands,  which  he  actually 
did,  at  the  head  of  an  army  levied  in  France.  This  diversion 
was,  however,  no  more  successful  than  the  direct  attack.  De 
la  Marque  was  driven  back,  and,  the  war  being  carried  into  his 
own  country,  saw  his  territories  devastated  by  forty  thousand 
men — Germans  and  Switzers,  in  the  pay  of  Charles — while  the 
people  of  Italy  flew  to  arms,  at  the  call  of  the  pope,  with  the 
intent  to  drive  the  French  across  the  Alps. 

So  soon  as  the  first  blow  was  struck,  and  before  the  proxi¬ 
mate  results  could  be  anticipated,  both  the  belligerents  ap 
pealed  to  Henry,  as  their  regularly  constituted  arbiter1,  France 
claiming  that,  by  the  treaty  of  Noyon,  Spain  was  bound  to 
evacuate  Navarre — which  was  merely  an  idle  pretext — and 
Spain  complaining  that  France  had  invaded  her  terrifies  in 


134 


CONFERENCES  OF  ARBITRATION. 


time  of  peace,  and  demanding  Henry’s  armed  intervention,  ae 
cording  to  the  articles  of  the  general  pacification. 

At  this  point,  the  king  of  England  had  unquestionably  the 
right  to  intervene ;  and,  with  a  view  to  his  favorite  project  of 
reconquering  France,  it  was  clearly  his  policy  to  take  part  with 
the  emperor,  by  a  bold  and  energetic  resolution,  thereby  se¬ 
curing  the  weight  of  his  alliance.  He  was.  however,  taken  un- 
awares.  The  moment  he  had  so  long  desired  had  anticipated 
his  desire;  his  project  was  yet  a  project  only;  no  preparations 
made,  no  levies  of  men,  no  squadrons  at  sea,  no  moneys 
granted,  still  less  any  on  hand,  for  the  prosecution  of  a  design 
so  gigantic. 

Henry,  therefore,  hesitated ;  wisely  deferred  the  execution 
of  plans,  which,  under  his  then  circumstances,  he  could  by  no 
means  have  prosecuted  to  advantage ;  exhorted  both  the  kings 
to  peace,  inviting  them  to  send  commissioners,  with  full  pow 
crs,  to  explain  their  grievances,  and  pledged  himself  to  a  just 
arbitration  between  them. 

Francis,  at  first  demurred;  Charles,  who  was  confident  both 
of  the  justice  of  his  own  cause  and  of  the  favorable  inclinations 
of  his  umpire,  and  farther  having  the  means  of  proving  by  in¬ 
tercepted  letters  that  the  simultaneous  attack  of  Navarre  and 
the  Netherlands  had  been  premeditated  by  the  French,  gave 
his  immediate  consent.  When  the  fortune  of  war,  however, 
turned  against  himself,  the  French  king  accepted  the  media¬ 
tion,  but  refused  to  be  bound  by  any  award,  which  should  not 
meet  the  concurrence  of  the  chancellor,  his  chief  commissioner. 

Wolsey  was  immediately  nominated  arbitrator,  and  sent  to 
Calais  with  a  splendid  train,  whither  came  to  him,  first,  the 
imperial  commissioners,  and,  on  the  next  day,  the  French  em¬ 
bassy  ;  but  it  became  apparent  that  no  final  end  could  be 


CONFERENCES  OF  ARBITRATION. 


135 


appi o'-ched,  Gattinara,  the  emperor’s  chancellor,  declaring  his 
power  limited  to  stating  the  facts  of  the  case  and  proving  them, 
and  then  demanding  the  intervention  of  Henry.  On  this  diffi¬ 
culty,  it  was  proposed  by  Gattinara,  and  warmly  seconded  by 
tne  French,  that  Wolsey  should  visit  the  emperor  in  person, 
who  was  lying  at  Bruges,  and  endeavor  to  bring  about  a  re¬ 
conciliation. 

This  was,  probably,  no  more  than  a  preconcerted  plan  de¬ 
vised  to  give  Wolsey  an  occasion  of  having  personal  confer 
ence  with  the  emperor,  and  of  maturing  secret  negotiations 
with  him  concerning  matters,  which  he  had  full  authority  to 
treat  and  conclude,  before  leaving  home.  Whether  it  was  so 
or  not,  Wolsey  eagerly  grasped  the  opportunity,  proceeded  to 
Bruges  in  almost  royal  state  escorted  by  four  hundred  horse, 
was  received  by  Charles  at  a  mile  without  the  gates,  conducted 
into  the  city,  and  feasted  with  great  solemnity  during  thirteen 
days,  the  mornings  of  which  were  occupied  by  public  coun 
cils  or  private  conclaves,  wherein  all  the  preliminaries  of  a 
private  treaty  were  arranged  between  France  and  England. 

In  the  meantime  the  war  was  still  proceeding,  and  at  first, 
to  the  disadvantage  of  Francis.  Amand  and  Mortaigne,  ir. 
Picardy,  were  taken  by  the  Seigneur  de  Lignes,  a  subject  of 
the  emperor’s ;  Ardres  by  the  Burgundians ;  and  Mouzon  car¬ 
ried,  and  Mezieres  invested,  by  the  Count  de  Nassau,  the  em¬ 
peror  lying,  the  while,  inactive  at  Valenciennes.  Then  Francis 
advanced,  retook  Mouzon,  and  raised  the  siege  of  Mezieres ; 
but,  pressing  too  hotly  on  the  retiring  imperialists,  was  checked 
and  driven  back  with  loss  by  De  Nassau. 

At  this  moment  the  cardinal  had  framed  a  project  of  peace, 
an  immediate  armistice  to  be  proclaimed  on  the  base  of  uti 
possidetis, — the  restitution  or  retention  of  the  territories  and 


136 


SENTENCE  RENDERED  BY  WOLSEY. 


fortresses  captured  on  either  hand  to  be  left  to  Henry’s  arbi 
try.  This  project  was  carried  to  the  emperor  by  the  Lord  of 
St.  Johns  and  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  and  to  the  French  king  by 
the  Earl  of  Worcester  and  the  Bishop  of  Ely.  The  terms 
might  possibly  have  been  arranged  ;  but,  pending  the  negotia¬ 
tions,  Fontarabbia  was  taken  by  Bonnivet,  in  Guipuscoa,  be¬ 
yond  the  frontiers  of  Navarre,  and  the  emperor  insisted  on  its 
rendition  before  proceeding  farther.  This  being  refused,  the 
cardinal  gave  sentence,  “  that  the  king  of  France  having  been 
the  first  breaker  of  the  truce,  the  king  of  England  was  bound 
to  assist  the  emperor,  by  the  terms  of  the  general  pacification;” 
and  orders  were  issued  to  raise  the  English  contingent  of  six 
thousand  archers,  according  to  the  articles  of  1518,  although 
too  late  that  they  should  take  part  in  that  campaign.  A 
league  was  .then  contracted  at  Calais,  between  the  emperor,  the 
pope,  and  Henry,  by  which  it  was  agreed,  that  in  order  to  re¬ 
strain  the  ambition  of  France  and  operate  more  effectively 
against  the  Turk,  the  three  powers  should  in  the  spring  of 
1523  invade  Frauce  with  a  powerful  army  ;  and  that  if  there¬ 
upon  France  should  not  yield  to  reason,  Henry  should  then  de¬ 
clare  war  on  him,  revoke  the  contract  of  marriage  of  his  daugh¬ 
ter  Mary  to  that  king,  and  betroth  her  to  the  emperor,  who 
should  make  good  to  England  the  loss  of  all  payments  stipula¬ 
ted  by  Francis. 

Before  this  treaty  was  actually  signed,  the  Marquis  of  Pes¬ 
cara,  the  emperor’s  general  in  Italy,  being  assisted  by  the  pope’s 
forces  under  Prospero  Colonna,  besieged  Lescun,  the  French 
commander,  in  Parma.  Lautrech,  his  brother,  came  up  to  his 
relief  with  twenty  thousand  Swiss  and  seven  or  eight  thousand 
Venetians,  and  raised  the  siege  ;  but,  a  few  days  later,  a  part 
of  the  Switzers,  being  ill-paid,  mutinied,  and  were  gained  over 


THE  WAR  IN  THE  MILANESE. 


137 


to  Colonna’s  army,  by  the  Cardinal  di  Medicis ;  whereupon  that 
able  officer  resumed  the  offensive,  stormed  Milan,  and,  Parma 
and  Pavia  surrendering,  and  the  castle  of  Cremona  having  been 
surprised  by  a  coup  de  main,  cleared  the  whole  Milanese  of 
the  French  in  a  few  days,  and  terminated  the  war  in  that  quar¬ 
ter  with  a  thunderclap. 

“  Which  the  pope  hearing,”  writes  Lord  Herbert,  “  and  be¬ 
ing  assured  together  that  Sforza  should  be  restored  to  Milan, 
was  so  overjoyed  that  he  died  thereof,  December  1,  1521  ;  so 
can  every  passion  in  his  turn  kill,  though  some  suspected  he 
might  die  of  poyson.”  *  About  the  same  time  Tournay  sur¬ 
rendered  to  the  imperial  forces  ;  which  was  a  yet  harder  blow 
to  Francis  than  his  expulsion  from  the  Milanese,  since  he  was 
still  compelled  to  pay  to  Henry  the  pension  stipulated  for  its 
restitution,  unless  he  chose  to  break  treaty  with  him  also,  and 
bring  him  down  upon  himself,  in  open  war,  with  all  his  forces 
at  once,  instead  of  abiding  the  time  appointed,  in  1523,  and 
this  he  could  not  afford  to  do,  having  quite  enough  on  his  hands 
already,  without  adding  Henry’s  dreaded  archery  to  the  forces 
of  the  coalition. 

All  these  events  show  how  entirely  erroneous  is  Miss  Strick 
land’s  idea,  that  the  cardinal  entertained  any  personal  animos¬ 
ity  either  to  the  Emperor  Charles  or  his  Aunt  Katharine,  so 
early  as  May  of  this  year,  when  Buckingham  died ;  and  we 
find  that,  on  the  death  of  Leo,  Wolsey  wrote  to  Charles,  re¬ 
minding  him  of  his  promise,  as  relying  on  his  aid  to  obtain  the 
papacy,  at  the  same  time  that  he  sent  Dr.  Pace  to  Rome  in  or¬ 
der  to  solicit  the  cardinals,  and  claiming  his  support,  in  requital 
of  the  care  he  had  ever  had  of  his  interests. 

This  j  ear,  says  Bellay,  as  quoted  by  Lord  Herbert,  muskets 

*  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  94. 


138 


INVENTION  OP  THE  MUSKET. 


wore  invented,  and  first  used  in  this  war.  The  notice  refers, 
however,  to  some  improvement  in  the  weapon,  and  noc  to  its 
invention  de  novo  ;  since  a  rude  firearm,  known  as  the  hand¬ 
gun.  was  in  use  so  early  as  the  battle  of  Bosworth,  though  so 
clumsy  as  to  require  two  men  to  work  it.  At  the  brattle  of 
Pavia,  moreover,  the  musketry  of  the  Spanish  foot  was  so 
rapid,  and  so  well  sustained,  that  it  broke  the  magnificent 
gendarmerie  of  France  ;  a  result  not  attainable  by  means  of  a 
weapon  originated  only  one  year  before  the  time  when  itself, 
with  the  tactics  depending  on  it,  had  been  brought  to  such 
perfection  as  to  decide  the  fate  of  a  stricken  field. 

The  most  important  thing,  perhaps,  to  Christendom  that  oc¬ 
curred  in  this  reign,  far  surpassing  all  considerations  of  wars, 
conquests,  and  invasions,  as  it  probably  decided  forever  the  re¬ 
ligious  creed  of  the  great  Anglo-Norman  race,  in  all  parts  of 
the  world  to  which  it  is  destined  to  .extend,  is  the  Papal  elec¬ 
tion.  which  occurred  in  the  early  part  of  1522. 

~  We  have  seen  that  Wolsev  depended  on  the  active  coopera¬ 
tion  of  the  emperor  in  causing  the  choice  to  fall  upon  himself 
Henry  was  anxious  that  this  honor  should  be  conferred  on  his 
minister  and  friend;  and  it  might  be  supposed  that  Francis, 
having  no  particular  candidate  of  his  own,  nor  influence  at 
Rome  sufficient  to  elect  him  if  he  had,  would  rather  see  the 
choice  fall  on  a  subject  of  the  partially  neutral  king  of  En¬ 
gland  than  on  a  nominee  and  partisan  of  Charles. 

Had  Wolsey  succeeded  in  mounting  the  Papal  chair,  it  is 
little  likely  that  any  rupture  would  have  occurred  between 
Rome  and  Henry  ;  and  had  Elizabeth  been  educated  Catholic, 
and.  succeeding  the  Catholic  Mary,  been  herself  succeeded  by 
Roman  Catholic  Stuarts,  who  shall  say  that,  at  this  moment, 
England,  Scotland,  and  even  the  United  States  of  America, 


ELECTION  OF  THE  POPE. 


139 


might  not  have  been  as  completely  under  the  influence  of  Pa¬ 
pistry  as  Spain  or  Ireland,  and  steeped  in  equal  ignorance,  im¬ 
becility,  and  barbarism.  On  such  contingencies  it  is  useless  to 
speculate,  farther  than  to  observe  on  how  small  and  seemingly 
insignificant  points  the  greatest  events  sometimes  hinge  and 
turn,  and  how  extraordinary  providences  of  the  Most  High  are 
sometimes  passed  over,  in  history,  almost  without  remark,  as 
accidents. 

This  election  of  Pope  Adrian,  in  lieu  of  Wolsey,  is  one  of 
those  accidents ;  and  it  is  singular  that  I  do  not  find  it  any¬ 
where  commented  upon,  as  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of  events, 
which  led  to  the  disruption  of  England  from  the  Romish  ortho¬ 
doxy,  and  the  attribution  of  a  religious  supremacy  to  the  wearer 
of  the  British  crown. 

The  Cardinal  Giulio  di  Medicis,  it  appears,  had  secured 
voices  enough  in  the  conclave  to  frustrate  any  rival  candidate, 
although  not  enough  to  install  himself.  Ilis  most  dangerous 
competitors  were  the  Cardinals  Wolsey,  Colonna,  and  Farnese; 
and  he  at  once  determined  that  if  not  himself,  no  one  of  these 
should  be  elected  pope.  lie  accordingly  diverted  attention  to 
Adrian,  cardinal  of  Tortosa,  a  native  of  Utrecht,  eminent  for 
learning  and  virtue,  who  had  been  preceptor  *o  Charles,  and 
who  was  now  resident  in  Spain,  “where  he  had  the  quality  of 
“  Oobernador  di  Castilla.'''  Cajetan,  who  admired  the  wri¬ 
tings  of  Adrian,  seconded  his  nomination  by  Di  Medicis,  and 
Adrian  was  elected  pope,  January  9,  1522,  so  many  as  nine¬ 
teen  votes,  however,  having  been  cast,  at  one  time,  in  favor  of 
Wolsey.  The  Italian  writers  throw7  much  reproach  on  the 
authors  of  this  election,  Guicciardini  styling  Adrian,  Pontif.ee 
Barbaro ,  and  Pallavicino  lamenting  that,  within  nine  years  afi 
ter  Julius  drove  the  barbarians  out  of  Italy,  a  barbarian  should 


140 


POPE  ADRIAN. 


have  occupied  his  chair.  The  choice,  however,  appears  to  have 
been  a  good  one ;  and  although  Charles  could  not  be  expected 
to  oppose  the  elevation  of  his  own  tutor,  subject,  and  minister, 
to  the  Papal  throne,  he  does  not  appear  to  have  taken  any 
overt  part  in  supporting  him,  or  hindering  the  English  cardi¬ 
nal.  And  so  Wolsey  appears  to  have  rightly  understood  it; 
for,  remembering  that  Adrian  was  an  old  and  infirm  person, 
and  regarding  his  hopes  rather  deferred  than  frustrated,  he  as 
yet  betrayed  no  animosity  toward  Charles,  probably  felt 
none ;  but  proceeded  in  the  line  of  policy,  which  had  been 
determined,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  adverse  to  his  interests. 

During  this  winter,  seriously  alarmed  at  the  force  of  the 
coalition  against  him,  Francis  at  first  exerted  himself  strenu¬ 
ously  to  regain  the  friendship  of  Henry ;  but  when  he  found 
that  impossible,  he  had  recourse  to  the  extreme  measure  of 
laying  all  the  English  shipping  in  his  ports  under  embargo, 
and  even  of  confiscating  the  property  of  all  the  English  mer¬ 
chants  in  France.  Henry  retaliated  by  imprisoning  all  the 
French  within  his  dominions,  not  excepting  the  ambassador : 
and  finished  by  sending  his  defiance  to  the  king  of  France  by 
Clarencieux,  king-at  arms.  In  May,  Charles  landed  at  Dover  ; 
and  the  treaties  between  himself  and  his  uncle,  with  regard  to 
the  invasion  of  France  and  the  marriage  of  Alary  with  her 
cou$jn,  were  fully  discussed  and  ratified.  The  invasion  was 
to  be  made  by  the  two  inonarchs,  each  at  the  head  of  forty 
thousand  men ;  but  Henry’s  was  merely  a  paper  army ;  his 
coffers  were  empty7,  exhausted  by  his  boundless  prodigality 
and  idle  luxury  ;  the  people  were  in  no  humor  to  be  taxed  ar¬ 
bitrarily,  under  the  name  of  benevolences,  voluntaries,  and  the 
like ;  and  it  was  late  in  August,  before  the  Earl  of  Surrey, 
whose  great  reputation,  won  at  Flodden,  had  gained  for  him 


IRELAND  AND  SCOTLAND. 


141 


the  leading  of  the  army  of  invasion,  was  enabled  to  ‘idee  the 
field  at  the  head  of  twelve  thousand  men,  paid  by  the  king, 
four  thousand  volunteers,  and  a  thousand  German  horse.  With 
this  force,  the  French  wisely  declining  general  actions,  and 
Surrey  as  wisely  avoiding  to  attack  fortified  cities,  he  devas¬ 
tated  all  Artois  and  the  Boulonnois,  up  to  Amiens ;  when,  a 
dysentery  having  attacked  his  men,  and  the  season  being  ex¬ 
tremely  unfavorable,  he  retired  to  Calais,  having  inflicted  cruel 
injuries  on  the  enemy’s  country,  greatly  enriched  the  adventu¬ 
rers,  but  acquired  neither  honor  nor  permanent  advantage. 

In  the  meantime  Francis  had  awakened  two  formidable 
home  antagonists  to  Henry,  who,  had  they  been  properly  sus¬ 
tained  by  France,  or  been  in  themselves  men  of  energy,  might 
have  shaken  the  English  throne  by  diversions,  which  its  oc¬ 
cupant  had  no  means  of  meeting  with  any  force  he  had  in  the 
field. 

In  Ireland,  the  Earl  of  Desmond  agreed  to  rise  on  the  land¬ 
ing  of  a  French  army,  join  it  with  the  whole  power  of  .the  na¬ 
tion,  and  never  lay  down  his  arms  until  he  should  have  con¬ 
quered  the  whole  of  Ireland  from  the  English,  half  for  his  own 
hand,  half  for  Richard  de  la  Pole,  the  representative,  or  pre 
tender  of  the  house  of  York.  Francis,  however,  contented 
with  the  alarm  created  by  the  mere  project,  forgot  to  pay 
Desmor.d  the  pension  which  was  the  condition,  and  never  em 
barked  the  army,  the  landing  of  which  should  have  been  the 
signal,  of  the  rising.  In  Scotland,  the  regent,  Albany,  who 
had  returned  at  Margaret’s  invitation,  that  turbulent  and  ill- 
conditioned  woman  having  quarrelled  both  with  her  husband 
and  her  brother,  refused  to  renew  the  truce  between  the  two 
nations,  which  expired  that  year ;  and,  at  the  instigation  of 
Francis,  and  by  means  of  his  aid,  marched  from  Annan  with 


142 


THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS. 


an  army  of  eighty  thoNsand  men,  and  forty-five  brass  guna 
against  the  English  borders,  to  defend  which  there  was  not  a 
man,  beyond  the  local  militia,  the  moss-troopers  of  the 
marches,  and  the  retainers  of  the  feudal  nobility  of  the  district. 
The  Earl  of  Shrewsbury"  was  appointed,  instantly,  to  array  and 
command  the  men  of  the  northern  counties;  but  he  was  anti¬ 
cipated  by  the  daring  address  of  the  bold  Lord  Dacre,  warden 
of  the  western  marches,  who  actually  crossed  the  borders  with 
five  hundred  men,  made  proclamation  on  Scottish  ground,  that 
the  Scots  should  return  into  peace  with  England  before  the 
first  day  of  March  next,  or  they  might  take  the  consequences  ; 
which,  he  added,  those  who  remembered  Flodden  might  well 
judge  what  they  were  like  to  be.  At  the  same  time,  he  wrote 
to  Albany  granting  him  a  month  wherein  to  solicit  peace  of 
Henry’s  indulgence.  Thereupon  Albany"  engaged  to  disband, 
and  actually  did  disband,  an  army,  which  might  have  marched 
to  the  Trent,  had  it  dared,  without  finding  an  organized  foe  to 
resist  it ;  and  Dacre  contracted  to  counter-order  the  advance 
of  the  English  powers,  not  a  man  of  which  was  yet  levied.  It 
is  no  wonder,  if  in  one  of  his  letters  to  the  king,  Wolsey  charac¬ 
terized  the  regent  as  “a  coward  and  a  fool.”  The  emperor 
had  been,  equally  with  Henry,  prevented,  by  lack  of  money, 
from  pressing  the  war  effectively  ;  for  he  was  far  from  being 
popular  with  his  Spanish  subjects,  who  accused  him  of  favor¬ 
ing  his  Austrians  and  Flemings,  at  their  expense;  and  the 
Cortez  were  anything  but  liberal  in  their  grants  to  sustain  a 
war,  which  did  not  in  fact  materially  interest*  them,  being 
waged  chiefly  in  Italy  and  the  Netherlands,  their  own  border's 
being  in  no  danger  even  of  menace. 

^ln  the  ensuing  year,  1523,  the  king,  who  had  now  governed 
for  eight  years,  without  having  once  summoned  the  great  coun 


W0L8ET  AND  THE  COMMONS. 


143 


cfl  of  the  nation,  was  reduced  by  necessity,  his  French  pension 
being  discontinued,  and  it  not  being  looked  for  that  Charles 
could  make  it  good,  during  the  continuance  of  the  war,  tosuin- 
mon  his  parliament,  to  meet  him  at  the  Black  Friars.  Sir 
Thomas  More  was  appointed,  by  Wolsey,  speaker  of  this  par¬ 
liament  ;  which  fully  proved  the  truth  of  what  has  been  stated 
above,  concerning  the  independence  of  the  English  commons 
at  this  period,  in  relation  to  money  questions,  as  compared 
with  their  total  subserviency  in  questions  of  general  or  individ¬ 
ual  liberty. 

Wolsey  demanded  the  sum  of  eight  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  to  be  raised  by  a  general  property  tax  of  twenty  per 
cent.  The  commons  heard  him  in  silence;  and,  on  his  insist¬ 
ing  on  a  reply,  he  was  informed  that  the  house  could  reply 
only  by  its  speaker,  and  that  the  speaker  could  reply  only  as 
instructed  by  the  house,  after  debate.  However  dissatisfied, 
Wolsey  was  compelled  to  await  the  convenience  of  the  king’s 
lieges.  The  question  was  debated,  adjourned  from  day  to  day  ; 
and  at  length  a  deputation  solicited  the  king,  through  the  car¬ 
dinal,  that  the  amount  of  the  demand  should  be  reduced. 
Wolsey  again  came  to  the  house,  answered  the  opposition  in  a 
set  speech,  and  called  on  them  to  reason  with  him.  But,  with 
the  same  spirit  that  has  always  characterized  that  body,  they 
made  answer,  that  they  would  hear  all  that  he  had  to  say,  hut 
that  they  would  reason  only  among  themselves.  When  Wol¬ 
sey  had  left  the  house,  they  voted,  in  lieu  of  twenty  per  cent., 
a  tax,  for  two  years,  of  five  per  cent,  on  all  Kinds  of  property  ; 
for  the  third  year,  the  same  tax,  on  fees,  pensions,  and  rents  of 
land;  and  for  the  fourth  year  the  same,  on  movables  only. 
From  this  levy  the  northern  counties — Northumberland,  Dur¬ 
ham,  Westmoreland,  Cumberland,  and  Chester  were  exempt. 


144 


THE  SCOTTISH  WAR. 


on  account  of  the  Scottish  war,  the  brunt  of  which  they  had  tc 
support ;  and  the  cinque  ports  were  free  of  it,  in  virtue  of  their 
charter.  With  this  diminished  grant  Henry  was  obliged  to 
be  content,  and  to  maintain  his  contracts  as  best  he  might, 
granting  a  general  pardon  in  virtue  of  the  goodwill  of  his 
commons. 

He  now  proceeded  to  cany  on  the  war  in  earnest.  In  Scot- 
land,  whence  Albany  had  fled  in  disgrace,  after  his  inglorious 
retreat  before  Dacre,  he  reconciled  himself  with  his  sister  Mar¬ 
garet,  who  readily  agreed  to  have  her  son  proclaimed  king,  a' 
the  Tolbooth  in  Edinburgh,  on  condition  that  her  brother 
should  support  her  with  an  army. 

To  the  command  of  this  army,  Surrey,  the  sou  of  the  victor 
of  Flodden,  was  appointed ;  and  he  conducted  the  war  with 
his  father’s  valor. and  ability.  The  Scottish  marches  were  de¬ 
vastated,  far  and  wide ;  the  flourishing  town  of  Jedburgh  was 
laid  in  ashes,  and  all  seemed  going  as  he  would  have  it,  when, 
on  the  very  day  of  the  Jedburgh  conflagration,  Albany  landed 
on  the  western  coast  of  Scotland  with  two  thousand  French 
auxiliaries  and  stores  of  arms  and  ammunition.  The  whole 
Scottish  nation  rose  as  one  man.  Sixty  thousand  men  flocked 
under  arms  to  the  standard  of  the  regent,  on  Burrow  Moor. 
Surrey  wrote  urgently  to  the  king  to  send  him  reinforcements, 
to  order  all  the  young  lords  who  wasted  their  time  about  the 
court  at  tennis  and  dice,  that  they  should  join  the  camp,  and. 
above  all,  to  require  that  he  should  be  provided  with  four 
thousand  German  regulars,  who  should  help  to  discipline  his 
raw  levies,  and  enable  him  to  meet  pikes  with  pikes;  the  En¬ 
glish  infantry  being  almost  entirely  archers,  and  the  phalanx 
of  Scottish  spears  being  almost  as  formidable  as  that  of  the 
Macedonians  of  old. 


WARK  CASTLE. 


145 


In  the  meanwhile,  Albany  rushed  down  at  the  head  of  his 
overwhelming  force  to  the  borders,  which  he  reached  on  the 
very  day,  when  Surrey  being  reinforced  from  nine  to  fifty 
thousand  men,  garrisoned  the  strong-holds  of  Wark,  Norham, 
and  Berwick,  and  took  post  at  Belford  to  watch  the  regent’s 
movements. 

Ignorant  of  what  had  happened,  Albany  at  once  attacked  the 
Castle  of  Wark,  and  in  a  single  day,  with  his  powerful  artil¬ 
lery,  battered  it  in  breach,  stormed  the  outworks,  and  even 
carried  the  inner  court  with  his  French  auxiliaries;  but  there 
the  English  archery  rallied,  and  the  Kentdale  bows  of  West¬ 
moreland  poured  such  a  deadly  hail  of  clothyard  shafts  upon 
the  assailants  that  they  were  unable  to  keep  the  ground  they 
had  won,  and  were  driven  in  confusion  out  of  the  lines,  as  the 
night  fell  heavy  and  precluded  all  farther  effbrjts. 

The  writer  has  stood  within  the  walls  of  that  old  and  well- 
defended  keep  ;  which,  it  seems,  never  was  repaired  ;  for  the 
great  breach,  torn  down  by  the  Scottish  guns,  yet  yawns  wide 
enough  for  a  hundred  men  abreast  to  march  over  the  moat 
upon  the  debris  of  its  fall,  and  enter  the  unguarded  courtyard. 
But  to  this  day,  in  all  the  walls,  wherever  the  joints  of  the  ashler- 
work  and  mortar  admitted  their  penetration,  the  forked,  iron 
heads  of  the  English  arrows  stand  black  and  rusted,  literally 
as  thick  “  as  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine.”  Thirty-and- 
two  barbed  heads,  of  four  inches  in  length,  were  counted  in  a 
piece  of  wall  not  above  two  yards  square,  directly  on  the  level 
which  the  column  of  the  enemy  must  have  crossed  in  mount¬ 
ing  to  the  assault ;  and  if  that  hail  of  arrows  fell  as  thickly 
where  the  combatants  were  in  serried  column  as  it  did  on  the 
bare  walls,  it  is  no  wmnder  that  they  fell  back  in  disorder; 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  did  so  fall,  for  although  the 
G  10 


146 


THE  SERVANTS  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  TUDOR. 


English  archery  were  trained  to  shoot  “  together,”  as  it  was 
termed,  “  and  wholly,”  every  shaft  was  launched  with  an  indi¬ 
vidual  aim. 

On  the  next  day  the  English  host  was  in  motion ;  but  the 
very  name  of  the  victor  of  Flodden,  though  borne  by  another 
than  he,  was  too  much  for  the  nerves  of  Albany.  In  fear  and 
disorder  the  Scottish  host  crossed  the  borders  at  midnight ; 
Albany  again  fled  to  France ;  the  son  of  Margaret  was  pro¬ 
claimed  king,  under  the  regency  of  his  step-father,  the  Earl  of 
Angus,  truce  followed  truce,  and — a  thing  almost  unheard  of 
in  the  annals  of  those  warlike  sister  nations — for  eighteen  years 
no  slogan  roused  the  burghers  of  Carlisle,  no  war  cry  of  St. 
George  startled  the  foresters  of  Ettrick,  the  reivers  of  Liddes- 
dale,  and  neither  English  bows,  nor  broadswords  and  blue-bon¬ 
nets,  crossed  the  border. 

Of  a  certainty,  that  house  of  Tudor  was  well  served  by  the 
proud  aristocracy  of  England,  to  the  end  ;  though  confiscation, 
and  the  Tower  and  the  block,  were  for  the  most  part  the  re¬ 
compense  they  earned  from  the  gratitude  alike  of  Henry  and 
his  lion-hearted  daughter. 

In  Italy,  in  France,  things  seemed  at  first  to  promise  no  less 
favorably  for  the  confederates,  than  in  Ireland  and  Scotland ; 
and,  in  the  Milanese.  Bonnivet.  could  effect  nothing,  but  after  a 
fruitless  campaign  was  compelled  to  raise  the  siege  of  Milan, 
and  go  into  winter  quarters  at  Biagrasso.  But  Suffolk,  who 
had  invaded  France  with  a  splendid  force,  and  had  been  joined 
by  the  imperialists  under  the  Count  de  Buren,  wasted  time, 
allowed  himself  to  be  cut  off  from  the  allies  on  the  German 
frontiers,  and  after  a  wretched  retreat  on  Valenciennes,  was 
compelled  to  disband  his  array.  Charles,  by  the  mutinous 
temper  of  his  Spanish  lords,  was  prevented  from  invading  Gui 


POLEMICS  IN  HISTORY. 


141 


enne  in  due  season,  and  only  succeeded,  at  the  end  of  autumn, 
in  recovering  Fontarabbia,  the  restoration  of  which  had  been 
his  ultimatum  in  the  late  negotiations  for  peace.  In  Septem¬ 
ber  of  this  year  the  Pope  Adrian  died,  and  Wolsey  once  more 
entertained  hopes,  by  the  aid  of  the  emperor,  of  ascending  the 
vacant  chair. 

Henry  wrote  to  the  emperor,  requiring  him  to  exert  him¬ 
self  to  secure  the  election  of  Wolsey  ;  and  that  minister  him¬ 
self  went  so  far  as  to  urge  him  to  advance  his  Italian  army 
toward  Rome,  and  so  contribute  the  fear  of  force  to  the 
other  motives  for  his  elevation.  This  last  Charles  declined  to 
do ;  and,  although  the  English  agents  at  Rome  were  instructed 
to  spare  neither  pains  nor  money  in  compassing  their  object, 
the  French  cardinals  offered  so  strenuous  a  resistance  to  Wol¬ 
sey,  whom  they  regarded  as  their  king’s  bitterest  enemy,  that 
nothing  could  be  effected  in  his  favor;  and  that,  ultimately, 
Giulio  di  Medici,  was  nominated  by  his  principal  antagonist, 
Pompeo  Colonna,  and,  receiving  the  votes  of  a  majority  of  the 
conclave,  ascended  the  Papal  throne,  with  the  title  of  Clem¬ 
ent  VII. 

Itjhoes  not,  to  write  candidly,  strike  me  that  any  faith  was 
broken  by  the  emperor  to  Wolsey  ;  nor  is  it,  by  any  means, 
clear  to  me,  that  any  offence  was  taken  against  that  prince  by 
the  cardinal ;  but  the  truth  is  this,  that,  throughout  the  whole 
of  this  reign,  every  fact,  civil  or  military,  foreign  or  domes¬ 
tic,  relating  to  the  course  of  affairs  in  England,  even  to  the 
character  and  conduct  of  the  queens,  has  been  seized  on  by  po¬ 
lemical  writers,  and  tortured  into  carrying  some  meaning,  or 
arising  from  some  cause,  which  never  had  any  real  existence. 
Of  this  kind  is  the  story  insisted  on,  it  would  appear,  in  tho 
first  place,  by  the  imperialists,  and  since  taken  for  granted  by 


148 


WINTER  CAMPAIGN  IN  ITALY. 


all  historians,  up  to  Lingard,*  that  the  whole  matter  of  Henry’s 
divorce  was  gotten  up  by  Wolsey,  in  order  to  create  a  rup¬ 
ture  between  Henry  and  Charles,  and  so  to  avenge  himself  on 
the  latter  prince  for  his  lukewarmness  in  his  own  cause  at  this 
Same.  It  makes,  however,  strongly  against  this  view  of  the 
question,  that  for  nearly  two  years  after  the  date  of  his  disap¬ 
pointment.  neither  in  his  conduct,  nor  in  his  dispatches,  neither 
in  his  own  bearing,  nor  in  the  policy  of  his  government,  do 
any  signs  appear  of  disaffection  toward  the  emperor,  or  of  lean¬ 
ing  toward  his  rival,  in  the  cardinal.  Moreover,  it  is  not  in 
evidence,  that  any  steps  were  taken  toward  setting  aside  the 
king's  marriage  with  Katharine,  even  if  any  idea  of  the  sort 
had  arisen  in  Henry’s  mind,  until  after  the  conferences  at 
Greenwich,  in  1527,  nearly  four  years  later,  respecting  the 
marriage  of  Francis  with  the  Princess  Mary,  whose  legitimacy, 
it  is  pretended,!  was  here  first  called  in  question,  by  the  Bishop 
of  Tarbez. 

During  this  winter  Henry  was  desirous  of  invading  Nor¬ 
mandy,  but  to  that  end  the  cooperation  of  the  Constable  Bour¬ 
bon,  who  had  traitorously  thrown  off  his  allegiance  to  Francis, 
and  was  bearing  arms  for  Spain  against  his  own  country,  would 
have  been  required :  and  he  could  not  be  spared  from  the 
prosecution  of  the  war  in  Italy,  which  was  carried  on  without 
intermission,  neither  party  going  into  winter-quarters.  Bon- 
nivet,  who  had  hoped  to  be  allowed  to  repose  during  the  in¬ 
clement  season  at  Biagrasso,  found  his  own  armies  so  much 


•Lingard,  vt  78. 

t  Isay  pretend ><?,  because,  on  examination  of  the  MS.  journals  of  the  French  am¬ 
bassadors,  concerning  these  conferences,  it  is  clear  that  no  such  question  arose  at  all ; 
snd  that  the  whole  story  was  a  device  got  up  between  the  king  and  Wolsey,  to  ac¬ 
count  for  the  origination  of  the  proceedings.  The  falsity,  however,  of  the  pretence 
does  not  impugn  the  evidence  afforded  by  the  date. 


BOURBON  INVADES  FRANCE. 


\ 


14i> 


reduced  by  sickness  and  desertion,  while  that  of  Spain  was 
maintained  in  perfect  force  and  condition,  that  it  became  ne¬ 
cessary  for  him  to  retreat.  This  he  did  in  February,  1524,  in 
tolerably  good  order,  so  far  as  to  Marignano ;  but,  in  crossing 
the  Sessia,  he  was  totally  defeated  ;  the  Chevalier  Bayard  and 
many  of  his  best  officers  were  slain ;  and,  in  a  few  days,  every 
French  garrison  in  Italy  had  surrendered,  and  there  was  not 
an  armed  Frenchman  to  be  found  on  Italian  soil. 

Bourbon’s  fierce  thirst  for  vengeance  now  led  him  to  insist 
on  the  invasion  of  his  native  land,  and  the  emperor,  although 
advised  to  the  contrary,  by  his  own  officers,  accepted  his  pro¬ 
ject,  and  urged  Henry  to  second  him  by  the  irruption  of  an 
English  force  into  Picardy.  Henry  had,  however,  found  by 
the  result  of  the  two  last  campaigns,  that  there  was  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  such  desultory  and  disconnected  attacks ;  and, 
though  he  consented  to  pay  half  the  expenses  of  the  campaign, 
declined  putting  any  independent  army  in  the  field.  Never¬ 
theless,  the  constable  invaded  France  with  an  army  of  seven¬ 
teen  thousand  veteran  Spaniards,  at  that  time  the  best  troops 
in  the  world,  under  the  command  of  the  Marquess  of  Pescara; 
and  had  his  plan  of  striking  directly  at  the  heart  of  the  king¬ 
dom,  where  he  expected  to  be  joined  and  probably  would 
have  been  joined  by  great  forces  of  his  friends  and  adherents, 
been  carried  out,  he  might  probably  have  succeeded  in  making 
himself  master  of  Paris.  Had  he  done  this,  he  would,  as  he 
was  sworn  to  do,  have  proclaimed  Henry  VIII.  king  of  France, 
when  he  would  have  been  supported  by  the  whole  power  of 
England,  both  in  men  and  moneys.  But  the  imperialists  in 
sisted  on  turning  aside  into  Provence,  to  besiege  Marseilles, 
wishing  to  secure  for  their  master  a  pled  a  terre  and  port 


150 


THE  SIEGE  RAISED. 


if  entrance  in  France,  similar  to  that  which  Henry  had  ir. 
Calais. 

The  step  was  fatal.  Marseilles  was  stoutly  defended  by 
Philip  de  Chabot ;  Francis  was  marching  tc  its  relief  with 
strong  forces;  and  Henry  and  Charles — each  fearing,  as  Lurd 
Herbert  says,  lest  the  other  should  reap  the  advantage  of  the 
expedition — failing  to  supply  him  with  funds,  the  army  of 
Bourbon  mutined  for  want  of  pay  ;  “  although  Sir  John  Rus¬ 
sel  had  newly  brought  him  twenty  thousand  pounds  from  our 
king.”  *  The  constable,  in  consequence,  was  forced  to  raise 
the  siege,  reembarked  his  cannon,  and  retired  with  loss  to  Ge¬ 
noa,  leaving  behind  him  the  Prince  of  Orange,  a  prisoner  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  October,  and  too  late  for  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  any  great,  new  enterprise,  according  to  the  cau¬ 
tious  rules  of  prudential  warfare.  But  Francis  was  anything 
but  of  a  cautious  or  prudential  temperament.  Fierce,  impet¬ 
uous,  and  vehement  by  nature,  he  was  galled  almost  to  madness 
by  the  shameful  loss  of  the  Milanese,  during  the  early  portion 
of  the  campaign,  and  yet  more  by  the  invasion  of  the  sacred 
soil  of  France,  by  one  of  its  own  recreaut  sons,  if  he  were  the 
bravest  and  most  able.  He  was,  moreover,  at  the  head  of  a 
“  flourishing”  army  of  thirty  thousand  men;  though  principally 
volunteers  and  mercenaries,  a  fact  which  the  historian  mentions, 
as,  in  his  opinion,  a  disadvantage  ;  because  the  volunteers,  “be¬ 
ing  irregular  and  properly  under  no  command,”  would  neces¬ 
sarily  “  be  admitted  to  the  hazard  of  disordering  a  whole 
army;”  while  the  mercenaries  he  represents  as  “slow,  willful, 
of  small  trust,  and  oftentimes  venal.”  It  must  be  observed, 
however,  on  the  other  hand,  that,  at  this  very  d  ite.  standing 
•Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fob  1'25. 


STANDING  ARMIES. 


151 


irmies,  except  these  very  mercenary  bands,  from  which  he  de¬ 
tracts,  were  unknown  ;  and  that  these  Swiss,  German,  and 
Walloon  regiments  were  not  only  the  finest,  but  the  only,  dis¬ 
ciplined  soldiers  in  Europe.  The  volunteers  in  question,  were 
the  splendid  gendarmerie  of  France,  composed  of  the  chivalry 
and  aristocracy  of  the  kingdom,  with  their  households  and  ten¬ 
antry,  the  men  in  the  ranks  being,  for  the  most  part,  gentle¬ 
men  of  name  and  lineage. 

At  this  time  there  was  not  in  England,  except  the  beef-eaters 
of  the  royal  household,  a  body  of  a  hundred  regulars ;  nor  were 
there  more  at  the  commencement  of  the  troubles  between 
Charles  I.  and  his  parliament.  The  Plantagenets  conquered 
Ireland,  Wales,  and  two-thirds  of  France;  the  Tudors  held  the 
balance  of  the  world,  and  ruled  their  own  country  with  an  iron 
hand ;  and  the  best  and  most  unfortunate  of  the  Stuarts  main¬ 
tained  a  warfare  of  seven  years’  duration,  without  regular 
troops,  supplies,  or  money,  solely  by  means  of  volunteers. 

The  first  English  standing  army  was  that  organized  by 
Cromwell,  which,  at  his  bidding,  dissolved  the  long  parlia¬ 
ment,  and  at  the  bidding  of  his  successor,  Monk,  brought 
back  a  king  to  England,'  and  crushed  the  commonwealth  under 
foot. 

With  this  powerful  and  valorous  army,  then,  Francis  re¬ 
solved  to  carry  the  war  at  once  into  the  Milanese,  with  the  in¬ 
tent  to  finish  it  by  a  blow  struck  at  the  capital.  Between  the 
two  armies  it  was  now  a  race,  whether  of  the  two  should  first 
reach  Milan,  the  one  to  storm  it  before  it  should  be  garrisoned, 
the  other  to  secure  it  before  the  arrival  of  the  French.  Fran 
cis,  with  the  usual  dash  and  impetus  of  a  French  general  and 
army,  burst  over  the  barriers  of  the  Alps,  by  the  passes  of 
Mont  Cenis,  and  overflowed  the  low  country  at  the  foot  of  the 


152 


FORCED  MARCHES  UPON  MILAN. 


mountains  like  a  deluge.  The  imperialists,  baffled  but  not  di» 
pirited,  struggled  manfully  through  the  defiles  of  Riviera  del 
Mare ,  but  had  barely  reached  Alba,  when  Francis  was  at  Ver- 
celli,  and  actually  nearer  than  themselves  to  the  city ;  they 
made  such  speed,  however,  that  they  were  enabled  to  throw 
Don  Anthony  de  Legoa,  with  twelve  thousand  Spaniards  and 
six  thousand  lansquenets,  into  Pavia,  and  to  garrison  the  cas 
tie  of  Milan,  the  town  being  the  seat  of  a  pestilential  disorder, 
while  with  the  bulk  of  their  army  they  took  post  at  Lodi. 

At  this  period  of  the  war,  Spain  appeared  to  be  in  an  ill  po¬ 
sition  as  needs  might  be ;  the  pope  having  secretly  entered 
into  a  league  with  Francis,  and  sent  a  special  private  envoy, 
one  John  Joacchino,  a  Genoese,  who  should  endeavor  to  bring 
over  Henry  and  his  minister  to  that  party.  It  is  the  fashion 
for  historians  to  say  that,  had  Francis  pushed  directly  on  to 
Milan,  and  pursued  the  imperialists  to  the  uttermost,  he  would 
have  concluded  the  campaign  with  a  conquest.  Historians 
say  the  same  thing  concerning  Hannibal,  after  the  battle  of 
Cannae ;  but  people  do  not  seem  to  remember  that  Hannibal, 
and  Francis  the  First,  and  a  few  more  martialists,  over  whose 
blunders  the  writers  make  so  merx’y,  were  probably  quite  as 
good  generals,  to  say  the  least,  as  their  critics.  It  is  certain 
that  Francis  obeyed  a  sound  military  rule,  in  refusing  to  leave 
a  strong  fortress  in  his  rear,  garrisoned  by  a  veteran  force 
equal  to  above  half  his  own  numbers,  which,  the  moment  he 
had  passed  by,  would  be  available  in  the  field  against  him  for 
active  operations. 

His  judgment  is  more  questionable  in  detaching  the  Duke 
of  Albany,  with  twelve  thousand  men,  to  operate  against  Na¬ 
ples;  and  the  Marquis  of  Saluzzo,  with  four  thousand  more,  to 
make  a  demonstration  against  Savona,  whence  to  threaten  Ge 


MUTUAL  DISTRUST. 


153 


noa.  From  this  moment  the  suspicions  of  the  emperoi 
against  Henry  and  Wolsey  appear  to  have  commenced,  though/ 
it  should  seem  with  little  cause ;  for,  although  the  Genoese, 
Joacchino,  continued  in  London  on  the  part  of  Louise,  the 
queen  mother  and  regent  of  France,  no  proof  can  be  adduced 
that  Wolsey  had  yielded  to  his  solicitations,  or  encouraged  his 
views.  On  the  contrary,  a  letter  is  extant  from  that  minister 
to  his  envoy  with  the  pope,  charging  him  to  warn  the  pontiff 
of  the  danger  he  ran  in  offending  the  only  sovereign  who  had 
the  power  to  protect  the  interests  of  the  church,  and  repress 
heresy,  in  Germany,  and,  in  the  same  letter,  he  takes  occasion 
to  reprobate  the  interference  of  the  head  of  the  church  in  the 
wars  of  temporal  princes,  and  goes  so  far  as  to  ascribe  the 
evils,  which  have  come  upon  the  church  in  these  days,  to  the 
wrath  of  heaven  at  the  leagues,  offensive  and  defensive,  of  the 
late  popes  with  belligerent  princes.  His  dispatches,  more¬ 
over,  show  that  Sir  John  Russel  was  ordered  to  pay  fifty  or 
sixty  thousand  crowns  as  a  reward  to  the  army  of  Bourbon  ; 
that  Dr.  Pace  was  instructed  to  urge  the  Venetians  to  seize 
the  passes  of  the  Alps,  and  intercept  the  French  reinforcements; 
and  that  Sir  Gregory  da  Casales  had  full  powers  to  cooperate 
with  Lannoy,  the  viceroy  of  Naples,  for  the  defence  of  that 
kingdom,  and  the  expulsion  of  the  French  from  the  Milanese. 

At  the  same  time,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  there  is  some¬ 
thing  suspicious  in  his  often  secret  interview’s  with  Joacchino; 
and  that  the  arrest  of  a  messenger  of  De  Praet,  the  imperial 
envoy,  and  the  decyphering  of  his  despatches  at  the  council 
board,  though  Wolsey  endeavored  to  explain  and  apologise 
for  it  as  an  accident,  afforded  just  cause  for  serious  offence  on 
the  part  of  Spain. 


154 


THE  BATTLE  OV  PAVIA. 


The  truth  I  conceive  to  lie,  as  it  often  does,  in  the  middle. 
Henry  had  probably  no  idea  of  betraying  his  nephew,  or  of 
biking  port  with  Francis;  nor,  I  think,  at  this  time, had  Wol- 
sey  any  personal  feeling  against  the  emperor.  The  king,  how¬ 
ever,  had  found  out  that  this  interminable  conflict  in  Italy  and 
the  Netherlands  was  not  bringing  him  any  the  nearer  to  his 
acquisition  of  the  French  crown  ;  while  any  very  decided  su¬ 
periority  on  the  part  of  either  of  the  belligerents  would  be  apt 
to  render  him  too  powerful  for  the  well-being  of  Europe.  Ills 
minister  had  experienced  the  difficulty  of  extracting  money 
from  the  commons,  and  both  were  becoming  thoroughly 
sick  of  a  war,  the  expenses  of  which  fell  wholly  on  England, 
while  the  rewards  were  likely  to  take  a  very  different  direc¬ 
tion.  It  is  possible,  too,  as  suspicions  seldom  are  single  or 
one-sided,  that  they  also  began  to  doubt  the  good  faith  of 
Charles,  as  he  doubted  theirs,  and  perhaps  with  as  much  rea¬ 
son  ;  for  he  had  assuredly  failed  to  fulfill  his  moneyed  arrange¬ 
ments  with  them. 

The  events  which  followed  naturally  inclined  England  to 
the  French  side  of  the  question ;  as  it  was  not  her  policy  to 
allow  either  party  to  crush  and  absorb  the  other ;  even  as,  long 
before,  the  conquest  of  the  Milanese  by  Francis  had  led  her 
to  make  common  cause  with  Maximilian  against  him.  The 
siege  of  Pavia  had  now  lasted  three  months,  the  besiegers  and 
besieged  having  exhausted  all  the  means  then  known  to  the 
art  of  war  in  the  attack  and  defence.  Don  Anthony  was 
pressed  by  famine,  and  he  wrote  to  the  imperial  generals, — 
“  Either  come  to  us,  or  we  must  cut  our  way  to  you.”  They 
came  to  him  ;  and  on  “  the  evening  of  St.  Matthias’  day,  being 
the  day  of  the  emperor’s  nativity,  in  February,  1525,  the  Mar¬ 
quis  del  Guasto  leading  the  vantguard.  the  Marquis  de  Pescara 


FRANCIS  A  PRISONER. 


155 


rhe  battail,  and  Charles  de  Lannoy,  accompanied  with  liour- 
hon,  the  reieward,  came  in  good  order  near  the  French  army.’  * 
Francis  drew  his  troops  out  of  the  trenches,  unadvisedly,  and 
gave  battle  in  front  of  his  o.wn  artillery,  of  which  he  thus  lost 
the  advantage.  Ilis  Swiss  troops,  contrary  to  the  wont  of 
Switzers,  behaved  ill,  threw  down  their  arms  and  fled  precip¬ 
itately  from  the  field ;  Don  Anthony  broke  out  of  the  city 
and  fell  upon  the  rear  of  the  French,  already  fighting  at  disad¬ 
vantage  ;  and  this  not  only  decided  the  fate  of  the  day,  but 
converted  it  into  a  total  lout  and  carnage.  The  German  mer¬ 
cenaries  fought  furiously,  despairing  probably  of  quarter  from 
a  German  conqueror,  should  they  lay  down  their  arms,  and 
were  killed,  nearly  to  a  man.  The  French  gendarmerie 
charged  home,'  again  and  again,  with  the  accustomed  headlong 
valor  of  their  nation  ;  but  their  barbed  horses  and  levelled 
lances  availed  nothing  against  the  regular,  rolling  fire  of  the 
Spanish  musketeers,  then  heard,  for  the  first  time,  on  the  battle 
field,  the  knell  of  chivalry,  and  harbinger  of  victory  to  disci¬ 
plined  and  standing  armies. 

Francis  fought  like  a  paladin  of  old,  killing  the  Marquis  of 
Civita  di  St.  Angelo,  and  striking  down,  according  to  Hume, 
seven  men  with  his  own  hand,  before  his  horse  was  shot  under 
him,  when  he  surrendered  to  Juan  de  Urbieta,  a  Guipuscoan, 
and  afterward  gave  up  his  sword  and  gauntlet  to  Diego  de 
Avila.  He  was,  for  some  time,  in  considerable  danger  of  his 
life,  among  the  irritated  soldiery,  who,  at  first,  knew  not  who 
he  was,  and  who,  when  they  discovered  the  greatness  of  their 
prize,  tore  to  pieces  a  great  pennache  which  he  wore  in  his 
helmet,  and  cut  into  shreds  the  surcoat  of  arms  he  had  on 
above  his  harness,  dividing  it  among  them,  as  trophies  of  the 
*  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  fol.  128. 


156 


FRANCIS  A  PRISONER. 


day  and  memorials  of  the  exploit.  Many  of  the  French  no 
bles,  who  might  have  escaped,  hearing  that  Francis  was  taken, 
“  out  of  singular  piety  to  their  king,  returned  and  yielded  them- 
selves,  saying  they(would  not  return  to  France,  and  leave  their 
king  behind  them.”  The  whole  remainder  of  this  passage  is 
so  striking,  so  graphic,  and  so  interestingly  descriptive  of  the 
sentiments  of  the  men,  nobles,  and  kings  of  the  last  days  of 
chivalry,  when  the  romance  of  real  life  was  already  fast  dying 
out,  and  the  splendor  of  the  warfare  of  the  middle  ages  was 
well  nigh  extinct,  that,  although  it  is  not  essential  to  my  direct 
narrative,  or  intimately  connected  with  the  career  of  Henry,  I 
shall  make  no  apology  for  quoting  it  entire,  from  the  pages  of 
the  gallant  and  eccentric  writer,  who  was  himself  almost  the 
last  cavalier  of  England. 

“  The  first  of  the  great  commanders,”  he  says,  “  that  came 
in,  was  the  Marquis  of  Pescara,  after  him  Guasta,  and  others ; 
at  last,  Bourbon,  being  armed  cap  a  pit,  and  with  his  sword 
all  bloody  in  his  hand,  comes  toward  the  king,  who  hereupon 
demanded  his  name.  Being  told,  he  stopped,  if  one  may  be¬ 
lieve  the  Spaniard,  my  author,  a  little  behind  the  Marquis  of 
Pescara.  He  also,  perceiving  the  king  troubled,  goes  to  Bour¬ 
bon,  and  after  he  had  told  him  that  the  king  was  there,  de¬ 
manded  his  sword,  which  Bourbon,  without  more  adoe  rendered; 
and  thereupon,  running  to  the  king,  and  lifting  up  his  beaver, 
cast  himself  on  his  knees,  and  humbly  demanded  the  royal 
hand  to  kiss,  which  yet  the  king  refused. 

“  Hereupon,  Bourbon,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  said,  ‘Sir,  if 
you  would  have  followed  my  counsel,  you  should  not  have 
needed  tc  be  in  this  estate,  nor  so  much  blood  of  the  French 
nobility  shed,  as  stains  the  fields  of  Italy.’  The  king,  hereupon 
turning  his  eves  to  heaven,  now  replied  only,  ‘Patience  since 


A  CAPTIVE  KING. 


15T 

fortune  hath  failed  me.’  Farther  discourse  was  hindered  by 
the  Marquis  of  Pescara,  who,  desiring  the  king  to  mount  on 
horseback,  conducted  him  toward  Pavia  ;  but  the  king  entreat¬ 
ing  he  might  not  be  kept  a  prisoner  in  a  town,  before  which 
he  had  lately  so  puissant  an  army,  they  brought  him  to  a  mon¬ 
astery  adjoining — Henry  de  Albret,  the  Comte  de  St.  Paul, 
and  divers  other  prisoners,  being  delivered  to  several  custodies. 
From  hence  the  king  was  removed  to  a  strong  castle,  Piciqui 
ton” — Pizzighitone — “and  there  kept  with  a  great  guard  of 
Spaniards,  under  Hernando  de  Alanqon,  till  other  order  came 
from  Charles,  to  whom,  immediately  after  this  victory,  a  mes¬ 
senger  was  sent,  to  acquaint  him  with  the  success.  In  the 
mean  time,  Francis  was  used  with  all  respect.  For  more  os- 
tention  whereof  Charles  de  Lannoy  brought,  before  supper,  the 
bason,  the  Marquis  of  Guasta  the  ewer,  and  Bourbon  the  tow¬ 
el  ;  which  courtesy  he  requited,  by  inviting  them  to  sit  at  ta¬ 
ble  with  him;  after  which,  requring  some  money  might  be 
furnished  to  him  for  play,  he  passed  away  the  time  the  most 
chearfully  he  could.”* 

The  Henry  d’ Albret,  mentioned  above,  is  the  nominal  king  of 
Navarre,  the  son  of  that  Jean  d’Albret,  whose  expulsion  from  his 
dominions,  which  were  thereafter  incorporated  in  the  kingdom  of 
Spain,  by  Ferdinand  in  the  first  campaigns  of  Henry’s  wars,  has 
been  related  above.  With  him  were  taken  the  bastard  of  Sa¬ 
voy,  and  many  other  noblemen  of  high  degree.  The  slain  num¬ 
bered  eight  thousand  men,  among  whom  were  many  captains 
of  note,  Richard  de  la  Pole,  the  pretender  of  York,  being  one 
of  these,  greatly  to  the  delight  of  Henry. f 

On  the  news  of  this  victory  reaching  London,  every  out¬ 
ward  demonstration  of  joy  was  made,  though  it  is  more  than 
*  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbnry,  fol.  181.  t  Ltngard,  111.  79. 


15S 


LUKEWARMNESS  OF  CHARLES. 


doubtful  whether  Henry  was  in  truth  inwardly  satisfied,  by 
the  extraordinary  success  of  his  confederate.  He.  went,  not¬ 
withstanding  his  private  sentiments,  be  they  what  they  might, 
to  St.  Paul’s,  in  solemn  state,  where  he  heard  high  mass  and  a 
te  deum  sung  in  honor  of  the  victory ;  but  this  done,  without 
a  moment’s  loss  of  time,  he  dispatched  Cnthbert  Tonstal,  bishop 
of  London,  and  Sir  Richard  Wingfield,  chancellor  of  the  duchy 
of  Lancaster,  to  Spain,  to  congratulate  Charles  on  his  victory, 
and  to  concert  measures  for  the  prosecution  of  the  war  in 
common. 

They  were  instruoted  to  remind  Charles  that,  as  this  war 
was  carried  on  in  common,  so  it  was  for  the  common  benefit 
of  both  the  high  contracting  parties;  that,  hitherto  all  the  ad¬ 
vantages  had  fallen  to  the  hand  of  Spain ;  but  that  the  king 
of  England  nothing  doubted  his  nephew  would  now  fulfill  his 
obligations,  in  aiding  to  recover  for  him  his  throne  of  France, 
which  was  his  of  right,  having  been  wrested  from  his  ances¬ 
tors,  and  which  was  the  subject  of  dispute,  for  which  he  had 
gone  to  war. 

lie  proposed,  therefore,  that  they  should  proceed  at  once  to 
invade  France,  on  two  sides  simultaneously,  and  meet  at  Paris; 
when  Ilenrv  should  ascend  the  throne  of  France,  as  his  hy  in 
heritance,  and  Charles  recover  the  Burgundian  provinces,  which 
had  been  recently  alienated  from  his  sway. 

The  ambassadors  were  also  instructed  to  offer  every  oppo¬ 
sition  to  any  plan  for  the  release,  or  ransoming,  of  Francis, 
without  the  consent  of  Henry,  but  to  claim  him  as  a  prisoner 
in  common  to  both  the  confederates,  although  he  had  surren 
dered  to  the  arras  of  Spain  in  particular;  and  it  was  added, 
that  it  would  be  well  that  Francis  should  be  delivered  over  to 
Henry,  for  safe  keeping,  in  which  case  the  Princess  Mary, 


ROYAL  SUSPICIONS. 


153 


though  not  yet  of  marriageable  years,  should  oe  placed  in  the 
emperor’s  hands,  under  fitting  conditions,  until  she  should  be 
of  a  proper  age  for  the  celebration  of  the  nuptial  ceremony. 

To  all  this  Spain  lent  a  deaf  ear.  The  ambassadors  sent 
word  to  their  court,  that  the  emperor  was,  beyond  doubt,  treat¬ 
ing  with  Francis,  to  release  him  on  conditions  framed  solely 
for  his  own  benefit ;  and  that  proposals  for  a  marriage  h;id 
been  interchanged,  to  the  detriment  of  his  contract  to  the 
Princess  Mary,  with  Donna  Isabella  of  Portugal.  Thus  Henry 
found  that,  although  his  alliance  with  Spain  had  fully  made 
good  his  vaunting  motto,  “  cui  adhereo  prceest ,”  he  was  any¬ 
thing  rather  than  a  gainer,  by  the  precedence  he  had  given  to 
his  ally ;  and,  being  manifestly  deceived,  determined  at  once 
to  change  his  course,  and  restore  the  balance  of  affiiirs.  And, 
in  doing  this,  he  was  in  no  respect  to  blame ;  nor  can  be  in 
any  degree  charged  with  insincerity,  or  with  breaking  faith  with 
Charles — it  being  manifest,  on  the  contrary,  that  Charles  had 
broken  faith  with  him,  in  converting  a  war,  carried  on  at  com¬ 
mon  risk,  common  charge,  and  for  the  common  good,  in  vio¬ 
lation  of  express  treaty  stipulations,  to  his  own  singular  ad¬ 
vantage. 

The  clamor  against  Wolsey  and  the  divoroe  was  the  result 
of  a  happy  afterthought  on  the  part  of  the  imperialists,  to  di¬ 
vert  attention  from  their  own  faithlessness;  and  it  has  been 
adopted  by  English  historians,  partly  from  justifiable  dislike  to 
the  character  of  tire  man,  partly  from  their  blind  adoption  of 
Polydore  Virgil’s  misrepresentations  of  his  personal  enemy, 
and  yet  more  from  the  polemical  partisanship,  by  which,  on 
one  side  or  other  of  the  question,  they  are  all  more  or  less 
deeply  tainted,  and  which  renders  them  all,  as  to  the  circum 


160 


DISSOLUTION  OF  THE  CONTRACT. 


stances  of  this  reign,  so  irresponsible  and  untrustworthy,  as 
authorities. 

It  is  clear,  however,  that  Charles  did  not  desire  to  proceed 
to  a  rupture  with  his  uncle,  or  to  throw  him  into  the  op¬ 
posite  scale,  although  he  might  avoid  giving  him  his  just  share 
of  the  spoils  of  victory.  For,  almost  simultaneously  with  the 
arrival  of  Tonstal  and  Wingfield  at  his  court,  he  wrote  per¬ 
sonally  to  Henry,  demanding  the  immediate  consummation 
of  the  contracted  marriage  with  Mary,  as  he  either  did  in  truth 
doubt  his  uncle’s  good  faith  to  him,  or  affected  to  doubt  it ;  offer¬ 
ing  that  she  should  be  at  once,  on  her  arrival  in  the  Nether¬ 
lands,  proclaimed  empress,  and  received  with  the  honors  due 
to  her  rank. 

This  the  king  of  England,  in  his  turn,  peremptorily  refused, 
alleging  the  tender  age  of  the  princess  as  a  reason  why  he 
would  not  part  with  her,  out  of  his  custody  ;  yet  he  offered,  at 
the  same  time,  to  give  her  to  Charles,  as  a  sort  of  honorable 
hostage,  in  exchange  for  the  captive  king  of  France. 

The  emperor  believed,  or  affected  to  believe,  that  she  had 
been,  pending  her  contract  with  himself,  and  in  violation  thereof, 
offered  in  marriage,  both  to  the  king  of  France  and  to  the  king 
of  Scotland.  The  first  is  palpably  untrue.  He  well  knew, 
what  was  not  denied  or  disguised  by  any  one,  that,  prior  to 
her  contract  to  himself,  she  had  been  promised  to  the  dauphin 
of  France,  which  engagement  had  been  broken  off,  when  Henry 
declared  war  on  Francis,  in  consequence  of  his  invasion  of  Na¬ 
varre.  Since  that  period,  it  is  impossible  that  she  could  have 
been  offered  to  that  prince,  since  Henry  had  held  no  commu¬ 
nication  with  him,  but  had,  on  the  contrary,  been  pressing  him 
to  extremity  with  arms. 

Beyond  this  casual  allusion,  there  is  no  mention  in  history  of 


DISSOLUTION  OF  THE  CONTRACT. 


161 


any  serious  thought  having  been  entertained  of  allying  her  to  the 
young  king  of  Scotland  ;  and,  indeed,  it  hardly  could  have  been 
the  case  ;  since,  as  cousins  german,  they  were  within  the  most 
rigidly  prohibited  degrees  of  consanguinity,  in  the  first  place ; 
and,  in  the  second,  if  such  an  offer  had  been  made,  supposing  a 
dispensation  to  be  procurable,  it  is  inconceivable  that  the  pro¬ 
tectors  of  that  prince  would  not  have  eagerly  embraced  it,  as 
the  surest  mode  of  securing  the  quiet  of  his  realm,  and  his 
peaceful  succession. 

The  more  resolutely,  however,  that  Henry  refused,  the  more 
pertinaciously  did  Charles  insist  on  receiving  her  hand ;  until 
the  question  was  settled  by  the  reply  of  the  English  king,  that, 
although  he  intended  to  keep  his  word  and  give  his  daughter 
to  Spain,  so  soon  as  she  should  have  attained  marriageable 
years,  and  although  he  still  desired  the  match,  if  his  nephew 
were  averse  to  waiting  for  the  adolescence  of  his  promised 
bride,  he  would  consent  to  liberate  him  from  this  contract,  so 
that  he  should  be  at  full  liberty  to  wed  another  woman. 

How  much  of  honesty  or  faith,  beyond  the  merest  self-inter¬ 
est,  there  was  on  the  part  of  either  of  these  monarchs,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  judge  by  whTlt  followed.  An  armistice  was  imme¬ 
diately  agreed  on,  for  the  space  of  forty  days,  between  Henry 
and  Francis,  and,  during  the  suspension  of  arms  which  fol¬ 
lowed,  a  treaty,  offensive  and  defensive,  was  concluded  between 
those  two  monarchs,  on  terms  vastly  to  Henry’s  advantage, 
Fiance  agreeing  to  pay  him  the  sum  of  two  millions  of  crowns, 
by  half-yearly  instalments  of  fifty  thousand,  and  moreover, 
one  hundred  thousand  crowns,  as  an  annual  pension  for  the 
whole  term  of  his  natural  life.  To  allow  Mary,  the  queen 
dowager  of  France,  Henry’s  sister,  the  full  profits  of  her  dower, 
and  to  make  good  to  her  all  arrears  up  to  the  present  time. 

11 


1G2 


BAD  FAITIl  OP  BOTH  KINGS. 


To  pay  the  cardinal  one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  crowns, 
for  his  resignation  of  the  bishopric  of  Tournay,  and  his  services 
to  the  house  of  France,  and,  lastly,  to  engage  that  the  Duke  of 
Albany  should  never  return  to  Scotland,  during  the  minority 
of  the  present  king.  This  treaty  Francis  ratified  during  his 
captivity  ;  and,  in  order  to  ensure  the  performance  of  it  after 
his  release,  Louise,  the  queen  mother  and  queen  regnant,  sanc¬ 
tioned  it  with  her  oath,  as  did  moreover  the  principal  nobility 
of  France,  with  the  great  cities  of  Toulouse,  Lyons,  Amiens, 
Rheims,  Paris,  Bourdeaux,  Tours,  and  Rouen ;  *  all  of  which 
bound  themselves,  under  actual  penalties  of  forfeiture,  not 
only  to  observe  the  treaty  themselves,  but  to  compel  the 
king  to  observe  it. 

A  precious  commentary  on  the  good  faith  and  honor  of 
these  high-born  and  chivalrous  nobles,  in  this  age  of  punctilious 
niceties  and  affected  jealousy  of  the  pun  d'  onor ,  is  the  fact, 
that,  in  the  very  moment,  when  they  were  binding  themselves 
by  solemn  oaths  to  the  observation  of  this  engagement  with 
their  new  ally,  they  were  secretly  engaged  in  entering  on  the 
private  register  of  the  parliament  of  Paris  a  solemn  protest 
against  the  treaty  ;  with  the  deliberate  intention  that  Francis 
should  avail  himself  thereof,  in  order  to  escape  from  the  ne¬ 
cessity  of  fulfilling  all  or  any  of  the  stipulations,  wherever  it 
should  suit  his  purpose  to  do  so. 

The  sincerity  of  Charles,  in  reiterating  and  pressing  his  de¬ 
mands  for  the  immediate  solemnization  of  his  marriage  with 
the  Princess  Mary,  is  sufficiently  attested  by  the  fact,  that 
within  a  few  weeks  after  the  abrogation  of  his  contract  with  her 
he  actually  married  Matilda,  the  infanta  of  Portugal,  who  brought 
him  a  marriage  portion  of  nine  hundred  thousand  crowns. 


FRANCIS  RELEASED. 


103 


In  January  of  the  ensuing  year,  1526,  finding  that  in  reality 
the  strength  of  France  was  in  no  wise  reduced  by  the  loss  of 
its  Swiss  and  German  mercenaries,  at  Pavia,  or  even  by  the 
capture  of  the  king ;  that  all  Europe  was  alive,  since  the  cap¬ 
tivity  of  Francis,  to  the  danger  it  ran  from  the  ambition  at¬ 
tributed  to  himself  and  the  great  increase  of  his  own  power ; 
and  that  more  was  to  be  gained  by  negotiation  tlian  by  war, 
Charles  began  to  treat  with  his  prisoner,  for  conditions  on  which 
he  should  be  restored  to  liberty. 

On  the  seventeenth  day  of  March,  he  was  formally  set  at  lib¬ 
erty,  his  two  elder  sons  being  delivered  up,  at  the  same  time, 
as  hostages  to  the  officers  of  the  emperor,  charged  with  the 
liberation  of  the  royal  prisoner.  The  ceremonial  of  his  dis¬ 
missal  occurred  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  of  Fontarabbia,  near 
the  town  of  Andaye,  in  the  Lower  Pyrenees,  the  king  being 
landed  on  the  French  bank  at  the  same  moment  of  time 
when  his  sons  were  disembarked  on  the  Spanish  shore,  the 
boats  which  conveyed  the  parties  pausing  an  instant  in  the  mid¬ 
dle  of  the  stream,  in  order  that  the  children  might  kiss  the 
hands  of  their  father. 

The  conditions  on  which  the  French  king  received  his  free¬ 
dom  were  these, — that,  within  six  weeks  after  his  release,  he 
should  transfer  Burgundy  to  Charles ;  that  he  should  renounce 
his  pretensions  to  the  sovereignty  of  Milan,  Naples,  and  Flan¬ 
ders,  the  emperor  in  like  manner  renouncing  his  claims  to  Bou¬ 
logne,  Ponthieu,  and  certain  lands  on  both  banks  of  the  Somme ; 
that  he  should  restore  the  Duke  of  Bourbon  to  all  his  droicts 
and  possessions  in  France,  and  guarantee  the  emperor  against 
all  demands  on  the  part  of  the  king  of  England,  for  the  arrears 
of  his  pension  ;  that  he  should  marry  Eleanora,  the  sister  of 
Charles ;  and  lastly,  that,  failing  in  ability  to  perform  all  or 


164 


PERFIDY"  OF  FRANCIS. 


any  of  these  stipulations,  he  should  place  himself  again  a  cap 
tive  in  the  hands  of  his  adversary.* 

“As  soon  as  Francis  came  to  his  own  ground,  he  got  hastily 
upon  a  Turkish  and  swift  horse,  and  suddenly  putting  spurs  to 
him,  if  we  may  believe  Sandoval,  and  casting  one  of  his  arms 
over  his  head,  and  crying,  Je  suis  le  Roy !  Je  suis  le  Roy  ! 
posted  to  St.  Juan  de  Luz,  and  the  next  day  to  Bayonne, 
whither  the  lady,  his  mother,  and  many  other  principal  persons 
with  much  anxiety  awaited  him.”  f 

Here  he  swore,  in  person,  to  the  fulfillment  of  the  treaty, 
which  had  been  negotiated  with  Henry  in  his  behalf,  during 
his  imprisonment;  and  wrote  a  letter  to  that  monarch,  thank¬ 
ing  him  for  the  exertions  "which  he  had  made  in  his  behalf,  and 
to  which  he  ascribed  his  own  liberation. 

At  Bourdeaux,  a  few  days  later,  he  ratified,  as  a  free  man, 
the  engagements  which  he  had  taken  to  Charles  while  his  cap¬ 
tive;  and  before  the  ink  Yvas  well  dry  on  the  parchment,  pro¬ 
ceeded,  deliberately  and  impudently,  to  violate  every  article 
of  the  covenant,  to  which  he  had  sworn. 

More  deliberate  perjury,  more  insolent  and  barefaced  vil 
lainy,  more  cold-blooded  swindling,  could  not  be  perpetrated,  or 
even  expected  at  the  hands  of  the  most  miserable  trader  of  the 
Low  Countries,  the  most  disreputable,  money-broking  Israelite, 
or  whatever  there  is,  if  aught  there  be  baser  than  these,  than  was 
resorted  to  by  this  great  and  valiant  king  —  this  knight  who 
prided  himself  on  having  taken  his  knighthood  from  the  sword 
of  Bayard,  the  chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche  —  this  no¬ 
ble  who  plumed  himself  upon  his  chivalry  and  his  honor,  more 
than  upon  his  nobility  or  his  crown. 

He  refused  to  surrender  Burgundy,  as  contrary  to  the  will 

*  Liugard,  vii.  87.  +  Herbert  of  Cberbury,  fob  146. 


CLEMENT  VII.  A  PRISONER. 


1G5 


of  his  subjects  and  the  oath  he  had  taken  at  his  coronation,  but 
offered  a  sum  of  money,  in  lieu  of  it,  as  his  ransom  ;  and  when 
Charles  replied  indignantly,  that  he  was  not  a  merchant  to  sell 
his  rights  and  principalities  for  gold,  but  a  prince  waging  war 
for  the  recovery  of  dominions  of  which  he  had  been  deprived 
wrongfully,  and  summoned  Francis  to  return  in  accordance  to 
his  oath,  into  captivity,  he  laughed  in  his  teeth,  and  negotia¬ 
ted  with  Henry  for  the  renewal  and  prosecution  of  the  war  in 
Flanders  and  in  the  Milanese. 

In  the  mean  time,  Clement  VII.,  who  had  from  the  first  es¬ 
poused  the  party  of  Francis,  entered  into  a  league  with  that 
prince,  on  his  liberation,  with  Ludovico  Sforza,  duke  of  Milan, 
and  with  the  Venetians  and  Florentines,  against  the  emperor. 
But,  Francis  moving  no  army  to  his  succor,  probably  having 
none  to  move,  but  wasting  his  time  in  idle  negotiations  with 
Henry,  which  were  never  to  be  fulfilled,  the  pope  was  over¬ 
powered  by  the  imperialists  under  Moncada,  and  forced  to  re¬ 
tire  into  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo,  where  he  was  strictly  be¬ 
sieged  ;  Rome  was  stormed  by  the  German  mercenaries  and 
free  companions,  led  by  Bourbon-who  fell  by  a  musket  bul¬ 
let,  while  leading  the  assault— and  was  sacked  with  circum¬ 
stances  of  horror,  atrocity,  cruelty,  and  licentiousness,  by  a 
Christian  army,  exceeding  all  that  she  had  ever  undergone  at  the 
hands  of  Alaric,  or  Genseric,  the  fiercest  of  her  Pagan  enemies; 
and,  in  the  end,  Clement  himself  was  forced  to  surrender  his 
sacred  person,  with  thirteen  of  the  cardinals,  into  the  hands  of 
the  imperialists,  who  detained  him  in  strict  captivity. 

The  capture  and  sack  of  Rome  took  place  on  the  I  Oth  of 
May,  1527,  and,  almost  at  the  same  moment,  conferences 
were  in  progress  at  Greenwich,  between  the  Bishop  of  Tarbez 
and  Turenne,  on  the  part  of  Francis,  and  Wolsey  on  Henry's, 


1GG 


THE  MASKERS  AT  GREENWICH. 


by  which  the  Princess  Mary  was  once  more  betrothed  to  the 
king  of  France,  who  had  sworn  scarce  a  year  before  to  wed 
the  emperor’s  sister,  Eleanora,  or,  in  case  he  should  find  it  con 
venient  to  keep  his  oath  and  marry  that  lady,  then  to  his  son, 
the  dauphin.  The  principal  condition  was  this — that  the  two 
kings  should  make  joint  war  on  the  emperor,  and  never  lay 
down  their  arms  until,  he  should  accede  to  their  terms,  the 
chief  of  which  was  the  liberation  of  the  hostage  princes,  and  the 
release  of  the  claim  to  Burgundy,  for  a  money  ransom.  A 
grand  entertainment  was  given  at  the  palace  of  Greenwich,  at 
which  three  hundred  lances  were  broken  before  supper  ;  and, 
after  a  supper  a  magnificent  ball  followed,  with  orations,  songs, 
a  fight  at  the  barriers  in  the  hall,  and  a  dance  of  maskers,  in 
which  the  king,  the  ambassadors,  and  all  the  principal  nobles 
of  the  court  took  a  part ;  and  in  which,  when  the  ladies  un¬ 
masked,  it  was  found  that  the  Viscount  Turenne  had  for  his 
partner  the  Princess  Mary  of  England,  who  was  still  consid¬ 
ered  heiress  apparent  to  the  throne,  and  Henry,  for  his,  the 
beautiful  Mistress  Anne  Boleyn,  the  lovely  and  accomplished 
maid  of  honor  to  two  queens. 

It  is  significant  of  Henry’s  infatuation,  and  of  his  probable 
determination,  already  formed,  that  it  is  at  these  conferences, 
according  to  his  own  and  Wolsey’s  statement,  that  Mary’s  le¬ 
gitimacy  was  called  in  question  by  the  Bishop  of  Tarbez, 
through  which,  as  they  allege,  the  king’s  conscience  was  awa¬ 
kened  to  the  illegality  and  incestuous  nature  of  his  connection 
with  his  late  brother’s  widow.  From  this  time  he  began  to 
move,  secretly, however,  and  carefully  concealing  his  proceedings 
from  the  injured  queen,  for  a  divorce,  in  order  to  gratify  at 
once  his  licentious  passion  for  the  charms  of  the  coy  and  co¬ 
quettish  maid  of  honor,  who  would  be  approached  on  no  terms 


THE  KING’S  SECRET  MATTER. 


16? 


save  those  of  matrimony,  and  his  scarcely  inferior  desire  for 
heirs  male. 

That  the  Bishop  of  Tarbez  should  have  raised  doubts  as  to 
the  legitimacy  of  the  princess,  whom  Henry  had  ever  repre¬ 
sented  as  his  heiress,  presumptive,  at  the  least;  the  legality  of 
whose  mother’s  marriage  had  never  been  called  in  question; 
and  whom  he  was  himself,  then  and  there,  soliciting  as  a  wife 
for  the  king,  his  master,  who  vehemently  urged  an  immedi¬ 
ate  performance  of  the  ceremony,  despite  the  immature  years 
of  the  bride,  is  so  unlikely,  and  as  it  were  ridiculous,  that,  were 
proof  wanting,  we  might  doubt  the  whole  story. 

But  proof  is  not  wanting.  The  journal  of  the  French  en 
voys,  recording  all  the  minute  particulars  of  the  conferences 
and  all  that  passed  at  them  is  extant ;  and  there  is  no  mention 
or  hint  of  such  a  suspicion  having  been  raised,  or  such  a  ques¬ 
tion  mooted. 

Evidently,  it  was  a  device  of  the  king  and  Wolsey,  to  ac¬ 
count  for  the  origination  of  such  a  scruple  in  the  eighteenth 
year  of  an  acknowledged,  undisputed,  fertile,  and  apparently 
happy  marriage,  and  for  the  demand  of  a  divorce,  literally 
speaking,  after  the  twelfth  hour. 

From  this  time  forth,  until  the  whole  of  that  iniquity  was 
accomplished,  England  had  no  continental  policy,  other  than 
this  of  “  the  king’s  secret  matter,”  as  it  was  henceforth  styled 
by  himself  and  the  counsellors  in  whom  he  trusted.  For  this, 
he  risked  a  rupture  with  one  or  both  of  the  twc  puissant 
princes  between  whom  he  affected  to  hold  the  balance ;  for 
this,  he  attempted  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  both,  making 
and  breaking  contracts  in  a  manner,  which  can  only  be  ex 
plained  by  considering  how  impossible  it  was  that  he  could  do 
ought  consistently,  or  even  promise  ought,  with  a  prospect  of 


1 08 


henry’s  poltcy. 


its  fulfilment,  so  long  as  he  had,  at  his  heart,  this  unworthy 
project  determined,  but  unrevealed ;  and  for  this,  in  the  eud 
he  broke  with  the  Holy  See,  and,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  a 
religious  rebellion,  enforced  a  total  change  of  church  polity,  if 
not  of  faith,  on  his  country,  certainly  before  it  was  prepared  in 
general  for  such  a  change. 

Both  Charles  and  Francis  were,  in  fact,  deeply  insulted,  if 
not  injured,  by  his  proceedings  at  this  juncture  ;  for  the  former 
was  the  nephew  of  the  noble  and  virtuous  lady,  the  right  royal 
queen,  whom  he  now  proposed  causelessly  to  set  aside,  and 
her  daughter  Mary,  whom  he  now  was  set  on  bastardizing, 
was  not  only  his  cousin  german,  but  had  been,  until  within  a 
very  short  period,  his  betrothed  wife. 

Francis  he  was  actually,  at  this  very  moment,  cozening  in 
the  most  impudent  and  barefaced  manner :  as  must  appear 
the  moment  his  divorce,  or  his  application  for  it,  should  be¬ 
come  public,  on  the  grounds  whereby  he  alleged  his  marriage  to 
have  been  illegal  from  the  beginning ;  since  he  was  actually 
contracting  his  daughter,  as  his  heiress  apparent ,  either  to  the 
king  himself,  or  to  the  dauphin,  while  he  was  secretly  laboring 
to  deprive  her  of  her  legitimacy  and  rights  of  succession,  by 
repudiating  her  mother. 

It  is  the  consciousness  of  this  intent,  doubtless,  which  made 
Ilenry  so  positively  refuse  the  immediate  celebration  of  Mary’s 
marriage  with  the  king  of  France;  and  insist,  shortly  after¬ 
ward,  on  the  substitution  of  the  dauphin’s  name  for  that  of  hi? 
father,  in  the  treaty,  and  on  the  insertion  therein  of  a  clause  to 
the  effect,  that,  if,  on  account  of  any  event  which  might  come 
to  pass,  the  marriage  should  not  take  place,  it  should  cause  no 
breach  of  amity  between  them,  nor  in  anywise  invalidate  the 
treaties  now  to  be  concluded. 

/ 


FIRST  LOVE  FOR  ANNE  BOl.EYN. 


IG'J 


It  is  very  difficult  to  believe,  when  we  regard  the  false  and 
temporising  policy  of  Henry,  with  regard  to  his  daughter’s 
marriage,  in  the  presence  instance,  when  the  object  which  he 
had  in  view  and  the  cause  of  his  apparent  inconsistency  are  pal¬ 
pable,  that  his  reason  for  positively  refusing  two  years  before 
to  sanction  the  solemnization  of  the  same  daughter’s  marriage 
with  Charles,  and  his  breaking  with  that  prince,  and  altering 
his  whole  policy,  rather  than  concede  the  point,  was  not  the 
same  as  now. 

His  excuse,  as  to  the  tenderness  of  her  years,  according  to 
the  ideas  of  that  day,  was  invalid,  and  may  be  regarded  in  the 
light  of  a  mere  subterfuge ;  since  the  question  was  simply  of 
solemnization,  not  of  consummation,  and  to  the  former  the 
youth  of  the  princess  would  not  have  been  an  obstacle.  Taken 
in  connection  with  the  known  facts,  that,  Ilenry  had  noticed 
Anne  Boleyn,  during  the  pageants  of  the  Field  of  Cloth  of 
Gold ;  that,  he  caused  her  to  be  recalled  from  the  court  of 
France,  by  name,  when  he  declared  war  on  Francis,  in  1522 ; 
that,  on  her  return  he  placed  her  in  attendance  on  the  queen, 
in  a  station  where  he  would  have  constant  access  to  her  soci¬ 
ety  ;  and,  lastly,  that  from  this  time,  he  steadily  refused  taking 
any  step  which  would  preclude  the  possibility  of  his  setting  aside 
the  Princess  Mary, as  illegitimate,  his  present  conduct  appears  to 
me  sufficiently  to  show  that  he  had  meditated  the  commission 
of  this  iniquity,  long  before  he  broached  it  to  the  nearest  of  his 
confidants,  long  before  it  has  been  suspected  by  historians  that 
he  did  so. 

Wolsey  was  now  sent  to  France,  with  instructions  either  to 
arrange  the  marriage  on  the  terms  above  recited,  which  were 
in  fact  adopted,  or  to  break  it  off  altogether.  He  went  most 
reluctantly,  knowing  that  he  was  sent  by  the  advice  of  his  po¬ 
ll 


i70 


wolsey’s  secret  policy. 


litical  enemies, — Norfolk,  Suffolk,  and  Viscount  Eocheford-the 
former  the  uncle,  the  latter  the  fit  her  of  the  favorite  maid  of 
honor,  he  having  recently  been  raised  to  the  peerage  under  that 
title,  and  being  shortly  afterward  elevated  to  the  earldom  of 
Wiltshire. 

He  went,  nevertheless,  and  succeeded  in  accomplishing  his 
master’s  ends,  as  also  in  procuring  the  insertion  of  a  clause  in 
the  treaty,  to  the  effect  that,  so  long  as  the  pope  should  con¬ 
tinue  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  emperor,  the  churches  of 
France  and  England  should  be  governed  by  their  own  bishops, 
in  spite  of  any  bull  or  breve,  which  the  pontiff  should  issue,  to 
the  contrary,  during  his  captivity ;  and  that,  farthermore,  any 
judgment,  pronounced  by  Wolsey  in  his  legatine  court,  should 
be  carried  into  execution,  whatever  the  rank  of  the  party  con¬ 
demned,  without  regard  to  any  Papal  prohibition.*  This 
clause,  though  its  meaning  was,  probably,  kept  a  secret  from 
Francis,  was  evidently  intended  to  give  absolute  power  to 
Wolsey  to  try,  in  his  own  court,  without  recourse,  the  ques¬ 
tion  of  the  validity  of  Katharine’s  marriage,  and  to  grant  a  final 
divorce. 

To  this  step,  Wolsey  had  now,  though  reluctantly,  brought 
himself  to  agree,  though  not  with  a  view  to  the  king’s  mar¬ 
riage  with  Anne ;  for,  reckoning  on  his  master’s  wonted  fickle¬ 
ness  of  humor,  and  probably  underrating  the  lady’s  powers  of 
resistance  to  her  royal  lover’s  passion,  he  calculated  fully  on 
his  being  soon  weaned  from  this  short-lived  folly,  and  went  so 
tar  as  to  speculate  on  his  marriage  with  Rene&,  the  younger 
sister  of  Claude,  queen  of  France,  and  even  to  assure  Louise, 
the  queen  mother,  and  probably  Francis  also,  that  such  a  con¬ 
nection,  between  the  two  crowns,  would  certainly  and  speedily 


LiDgard,  vi.  123  ;  and  state  papers  quoted  by  him. 


MARCH  OF  LAUTRECII. 


171 


ensue.  On  his  return  to  England,  he  learned  Henry's  determi¬ 
nation,  and  the  inutility  of  attempting  to  oppose  it.  He  went 
so  fir,  indeed,  as  to  implore  the  king  on  his  knees  to  abandon 
the  project ;  but  on  finding  him  resolute,  and  knowing  the 
perduracy  and  violence  of  his  resolution,  he  yielded  his  own 
judgment  and  conscience,  and  served  his  master  to  the  last, 
more  truly,  as  he  himself  confessed  too  late,  than  he  served 
his  God,  until  his  bad  ends  were  accomplished.  But  not  so 
truly  as  to  save  himself  innocent  from  the  beautiful  favorite’s 
displeasure ;  for  Anne  learned,  from  her  lover,  the  opposition 
of  the  cardinal,  and  never  forgave  it,  as  it  seems  she  never  for¬ 
gave  any  one,  whom  she  thought  an  enemy.  From  this  day, 
therefore,  although  it  was  by  his  means,  solely,  that  the  di¬ 
vorce  was  accomplished,  and  Anne’s  marriage  rendered  possi¬ 
ble,  Wolsey’s  downfall  was  dated.  From  this  day,  likewise, 
may  be  dated  the  death-sentence  of  the  venerable  Fisher,  bishop 
of  Rochester,  and  of  the  excellent  Sir  Thomas  More  ;  for  they 
had  both  given  opinions  adverse  to  the  divorce,  and,  although 
they  continued  to  hold  office,  and  even  apparently  to  enjoy 
the  royal  favor,  they  were  both  inscribed  on  the  black-list  of 
the  revengeful  mistress,  who  never  rested  from  her  ill  offices 
toward  them,  until  their  heads  had  fallen. 

The  first  overt  act  of  the  king’s,  after  the  ratification  of  this 
treaty,  was  the  march  of  a  French  army  under  Lautrech,  ac¬ 
companied  by  Sir  Robert  Jerningham,  the  English  commis¬ 
sary,  with  two  hundred  English  horse,  across  the  Alps,  with 
the  avowed  purpose  of  liberating  the  pope  from  his  Spanish 
captivity.  But,  although  the  French  general  speedily  overran 
Lombardy,  and,  leaving  the  strong  garrison  of  Milan  unreduced 
in  his  rear,  advanced  to  Piacenza,  he  lingered  at  that  place, 
with  inexplicable  fatuity,  until  the  pontiff,  despairing  of  releiue 


172 


ESCAPE  OF  POrE  CLEMENT. 


by  means  of  the  allies,  began  to  treat  of  ransom  with  his  cap- 
tors,  and  suddenly,  finding  their  vigilance  relaxed,  succeeded  in 
making  his  escape,  disguised  as  a  gardener,  to  the  strong  town 
of  Orvieto,  where  he  was  waited  on  by  the  English  envoys, 
with  congratulations,  and  solicitations  to  empower  Wolsey, 
or  Staphileo,  to  hear  and  decide  the  cause  of  the  divorce,  and 
to  grant  a  dispensation  to  Henry,  to  marry  any  other  woman 
whomsoever,  even  if  she  were  related  to  him  in  the  first  de¬ 
gree,  provided  always,  that  she  were  not  the  widow  of  his 
brother,  or  if  she  had  been  contracted  to  another  man. 

The  object  of  these  forms,  in  order  to  render  possible  his 
contemplated  marriage  with  Anne,  who  was  not  obviously 
related  to  the  king  in  any  degree,  nor  notoriously  contracted 
to  any  other  person,  will  be  explained  hereafter,  when  I  come 
to  treat  of  her  fortunes  and  character.  In  this  memoir  of 
Henry,  I  restrict  myself  to  my  plan  of  regarding  his  political 
career  alone,  and  his  relations  to  his  own  people  and  to  for¬ 
eign  governments  ;  reserving,  as  much  as  possible,  the  details 
of  his  private  and  domestic  life,  and  the  circumstances  con¬ 
nected  with  his  queens,  to  be  treated  of  in  connection  with  those 
ladies,  and  touching  on  his  concerns  with  them,  only  so  far  as 
they  are  mixed  up  with  affairs  of  state. 

The  pope  at  once  signed  two  instruments  to  the  required  ef¬ 
fect,  but  requested  that,  for  the  present,  they  might  be  kept  se¬ 
cret  ;  and  afterward,  at  Henry’s  request,  appointed  a  cardinal, 
to  be  chosen  by  Henry  himself,  out  of  six  of  that  rank,  who 
should  try  the  cause  in  conjunction  with  Wolsey.  It  is  worthy 
of  remark  here,  in  connection  with  what  followed  in  regard  to 
Henry’s  rupture  with  Rome,  that  Clement,  who  was  favorably 
disposed  and  bound  by  gratitude  to  him,  from  the  beginning, 
warned  him  “That  he  was  taking  the  most  circuitous  route,” 


SIEGE  OF  NAPLES. 


173 


and  that,  if  he  proceeded  as  he  proposed,  “  it  was  plain,  that 
by  appeals,  exceptions,  and  adjournments,  the  cause  must  be 
protracted  for  many  years.”* 

In  the  meantime,  the  allied  army,  which  was  besieging  Na¬ 
ples  by  laud,  while  Pedro  Lando,  with  thirty  Venetian  galleys, 
was  blocking  it  by  sea,  so  that  it  seemed  impossible  that  the 
town  should  hold  out  any  longer,  was  attacked  by  a  terrible 
disease,  known  as  the  black,  or  the  sweating,  plague;  which 
afterward  spread  throughout  Europe,  and  was,  especially  in  En¬ 
gland,  very  fatal.  Of  this  disease  died,  first,  Sir  Robert  Jer- 
ningham,  then  Carew,  his  lieutenant,  and,  lastly,  Lautrech  him¬ 
self,  the  great  French  commander ;  after  which  the  army  with¬ 
drew,  pursued  and  sorely  harassed  by  the  imperialists,  to  Al¬ 
essandria,  where  it  passed  the  winter  of  1528  ;the  war  in  Italy y 
in  fact,  terminating  with  this  disastrous  and  inglorious  cam- 
paign.  For  although  hostilities  nominally  continued  betwreen 
Spain  and  England,  an  armistice  for  eight  months  was  conclu¬ 
ded  between  Henry  and  Margaret,  the  governess  of  the  Neth¬ 
erlands,  by  which  the  war  in  those  parts  was  concluded ;and  af¬ 
ter  the  expiration  of  the  year  no  more  troops  were  sent  out 
from  England,  nor  did  Henry  ever  again  earnestly  engage  in 
active  operations  on  the  continent. 

From  this  time  forth,  his  domestic  affairs,  and  his  “  secret 
matter,”  completely  occupied  him,  the  more  so  as  Clement’s 
prediction  was  fulfilled  to  the  letter,  and  years  elapsed  before 
the  cause  could  be  decided.  In  April,  1528,  plenary  powers 
were  issued  to  Wolsey  to  try  the  cause,  without  judicial  forms, 
to  pronounce  according  to  his  own  conscience,  without  regard 
to  exception  or  appeal,  the  marriage  valid  oi  invalid,  and  the 


*  Strype,  i.  46,  75. 


174 


henry’s  latent  character. 


issue  thereof  legitimate  or  illegitimate,  according  to  the  desire 
of  Henry. 

The  king  and  Anne  were  at  first  in  eestaeies,  imagining  that 
the  whole  matter  was  decided,  and  all  difficulty  at  an  end  ; 
but,  at  this  moment  Wolsey  took  the  alarm.  If  he  granted 
the  divorce,  he  was  ruined  with  both  France  and  Spain,  and 
all  for  the  sake  of  one,  from  whom  he  was  well  assured  he  had 
no  kindness  to  expect ;  for  he  well  knew  that  Anne  Boleyn 
hated  him,  with  a  perfect  and  sufficient  hatred.  If  he  refused 
the  divorce,  he  lost  Henry’s  favor,  lost  his  position,  his  power, 
his  fortunes,  probably  his  head  ;  for,  although  the  king  had  not 
yet  shown  himself  the  sanguinary  executioner  into  which  he,  a 
few  years  later,  degenerated,  Wolsey  unquestionably  knew  his 
nature,  and  had  discovered  the  latent  instincts  of  the  royal  ti¬ 
ger,  which  needed  only  to  be  thwarted,  that  they  should  dis¬ 
play  themselves  in  all  their  brutal  force  and  fury. 

It  is  probable,  also,  that  Wolsey ’s  conscience  did,  in  truth, 
wince.  For  he  was  not  a  cruel,  nor,  as  it  seems  to  me,  a  bad- 
hearted,  or  deliberately  unjust,  man.  Could  he  have  been  both 
great  and  good,  at  once,  I  think  he  would  have  desired  to  be 
good.  Perhaps,  if  he  could  have  been  innocent  and  safe,  he 
would  have  let  the  greatness  go  by,  and  have  continued  in¬ 
nocent. 

But  his  ambition  and  his  vanity  cried  out ;  and  he  felt,  as 
all  ambitious,  proud,  vain  men  must  naturally  feel,  that  it  is  a 
far  harder  trial  to  fall  from  achieved  greatness,  than  to  have  re¬ 
frained  from  striving  to  achieve  it.  Nor  was  it  an  easy,  or  in¬ 
deed  a  possible  thing  to  continue  innocent,  with  any  certainty 
of  preserving  his  head,  for  any  one  whom  Henry  had  resolved 
to  have  guilty  for  his  own  advantage. 

He  now  temporized;  required  that  Cardinal  Campcggic 


DELAYS  IN  THE  DIVORCE. 


175 


should  be  joined  to  him  in  the  commission,  as  more  experienced 
than  himself  in  the  laws  of  Rome  ;  and  wrote  to  the  pope,  im¬ 
ploring  him  to  issue  a  bull,  decreeing  the  divorce  and  granting 
the  dispensation,  which  he  pledged  himself  never  to  divulge  ; 
as  he  required  it,  he  said,  only  as  a  safeguard  to  his  own  con¬ 
science,  without  which  he  could  not  decide  so  great  a  question; 
not  as  a  justification  to  the  world. 

The  pretence  deceived  not  the  pope,  nor  his  advisers.  It  was, 
in  fact,  too  shallow  to  deceive  any  one.  It  was  palpable,  that 
the  bull  once  in  his  hands,  so  soon  as  his  decision  should  be 
impugned,  he  would  produce  it  as  his  authority  and  justifica¬ 
tion.  Late  in  the  autumn,  Campeggio  arrived  in  London,  the 
bearer  of  the  bull  which  had  been  so  earnestly  desired ;  but 
his  instructions  were  distinct,  that,  although  he  might  read  it 
aloud  to  the  king  and  his  minister,  he  was  on  no  account  to 
give  it  into  their  Linds,  but  rather  to  commit  it  to  the  flames. 

The  queen  stood  resolutely  on  the  defensive,  positively  re¬ 
fusing  to  do  the  smallest  act,  which  should  invalidate  her  daugh¬ 
ter’s  legitimacy,  or  to  admit  that  she  had  been  living,  for 
eighteen  years,  with  Henry,  as  his  mistress  and  not  his  wife; 
she  produced  the  original  breve  of  dispensation,  granted  for 
her  marriage  by  Julius  II.,  to  which  no  objections  could  be 
made,  and  demanded  that  she  should  be  allowed  advocates  of 
her  nephew’s  subjects,  who  should  not  be  liable  to  the  influ- 
nce  of  the  king  or  his  minister. 

Clement,  meanwhile,  fell  ill  again,  and  was  given  over  for 
dead,  but  again  recovered.  The  emperor,  who  had  regained 
the  ascendant  over  French  arms  in  Italy,  by  liberal  and  kindly 
conduct  toward  the  pontiff  obtained  a  counter  influence  to  that 
wh'ua  Francis  and  ITenry  had  hithe  to  exercised  over  him. 
He  moreover,  succeeded  in  making  peace,  the  treaty  of  which 


176 


GROUNDS  FOR  THE  DIVORCE. 


was  signed  early  in  the  year  1529,  with  that  prince.  The 
pope,  moreover,  remained  firm  and  immovable.  “Campeggio 
adhered  obstinately  to  established  forms ;  and  neither  the 
wishes  of  the  king,  nor  the  entreaties  of  Wolsey,  nor  the  ex¬ 
hortations  of  Francis,  could  accelerate  his  progress.” 

On  the  eighteenth  of  June,  the  court  met  to  try  the  case  in 
the  parliament  chamber  at  Black  Friars.  The  king  and  queen 
were  both  cited  to  appear.  The  latter,  on  doing  so,  protested 
against  the  judges,  denied  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court,  and  ap¬ 
pealed  to  Rome.  On  the  following  day,  she  cast  herself  at 
the  king’s  feet,  uttered  a  pathetic  appeal  to  his  sympathies,  and 
then  with  a  low  obeisance  retired,  whispering  to  an  attendant, 
when  an  officer  was  sent  to  recall  her,  “  I  never  before  dispu¬ 
ted  the  will  of  my  husband,  and  shall  take  the  first  opportu¬ 
nity  to  ask  pardon  for  this  disobedience.” 

On  her  refusal  to  appear,  either  in  person,  or  by  attorney, 
she  was  pronounced  contumacious ;  and  the  trial  proceeded  in 
her  absence,  Henry’s  counsellors  demanding  the  abrogation  of 
the  marriage  on  these  three  grounds:  1.  That  her  marriage 
with  Arthur  having  been  consummated,  her  subsequent  mar¬ 
riage  with  Henry  was  contrary  to  divine  law,  and  therefore 
null  and  void  from  the  beginning ;  2.  That  the  bull  of  Pope 

Julius  II.  had  been  obtained  under  false  pretences ;  and, 
3.  That  the  breve  of  dispensation,  produced  by  Katharine, 
which  was  not  liable  to  the  defects  of  the  bull,  was  a  forgery. 
As  Katharine  had  declined  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court,  no  re¬ 
ply  was  made  by  her  to  these  allegations;  but  Campeggio  did 
not  choose  to  pronounce  judgment,  and  solicited  the  pope  to 
call  the  cause  before  himself.  In  the  mean  time,  the  term 
expired,  and  the  matter  was  adjourned  until  the  following 
October. 


INSULT  TO  CAMPEGGIO. 


177 


Henry  and  Anne  were  furious.  The  lady  extorted  from 
her  lover  a  promise  never  again  to  see  Wolsey,  and  the  tyrant 
kept  Iris  word.  When  the  Michaelmas  term  arrived,  Cam- 
peggio  bade  his  brother  cardinal  farewell,  and  departed  for 
Rome,  but  was  grievously  insulted  at  Dover,  by  the  officers 
of  the  customs,  who  forcibly  entered  his  apartments  and 
searched  his  baggage,  on  the  pretext  that  he  was  carrying  off’ 
Wolsey’s  treasures,  but  in  reality  with  the  expectation  of  find¬ 
ing  papers,  of  which  the  king  desired  to  make  himself  master. 
Nothing,  however,  was  discovered,  and  the  only  consequences 
of  the  operation  wrere  the  converting  Campeggio  into  an  overt 
enemy,  and  rendering  it  more  difficult  for  Clement  to  favor 
Henry  in  the  suit,  as  he  doubtless  desired  to  do,  if  he  might 
find  a  way  of  doing  so  in  safety. 

From  t his_t une^kaweuer, -the  fall  of  Wolsey  must  be  da¬ 
ted.  He  had,  it  is  true,  strained  every  point,  sacrificed  con¬ 
science,  duty,  truth,  used  every  solicitation,  every  exertion,  left 
no  stone  unturned,  to  gratify  the  will  of  his  exacting,  unrelent- 
ing  master.  But  he  had  failed.  It  was  known  that  he  had 
been  originally,  probably  w7as  still,  opposed  on  principle,  and 
in  his  own  heart,  to  Henry’s  marriage  with  Anne.  Therefore, 
she  hated  him,  and  it  would  seem  that,  under  her  soft,  seduc¬ 
tive,  gentle  exterior,  she  concealed  a  nature  almost  as  unfor¬ 
giving  as  her  royal  lover’s.  Henry,  probably  at  her  sugges¬ 
tion,  was  led  to  mistrust  the  sincerity  of  the  cardinal’s  en¬ 
deavors,  perhaps  even  to  suspect  him  of  double  dealing.  His 
want  of  success  was  attributed  to  want  of  faith,  and  he  was 
marked  for  destruction. 

On  the  very  day  when  he  opened  his  court,  as  chancellor, 
two  bills  were  filed  against  him  by  the  attorney -general,  Hales, 
under  whab-was  commonly  called  the  statute  praemunire ,  which 

IP  12 


178 


FALL  OF  WOLSET. 


he  was  accused  of  having  transgressed  in  his  legatine  court. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  iniquitous  than  the  whole  trans¬ 
action.  It  was  doubtful  whether  that  statute  had  any  applica 
tion  to  the  court  of  the  pope’s  legate.  At  all  events,  he  had 
the  royal  license  previously  obtained,  and  the  sanction  of  par 
liament;  besides,  that  immemorial  usage  was  in  his  favor. 
He  knew  too  well,  however,  the  temper  of  the  royal  brute, 
fiercer  and  more  untamable  than  the  animal  which  has  ob¬ 
tained  the  title,  and  the  pitch  of  frenzy  to  which  opposition 
aroused  him.  He  declined,  therefore,  to  plead  even  the  royal 
license,  but  owrned  his  guilt,  resigned  his  seals,  submitted  to 
every  demand,  divested  himself  of  all  his  personal  property, 
granted  to  the  king  by  indenture  the  revenues  of  all  his  bene¬ 
fices  and  church  preferments,  and  threw  himself  wholly  and 
unconditionally  on  Henry’s  mercy,  professing  his  willingness 
to  give  up  even  the  shirt  from  his  back,  and  to  live  in  a  her¬ 
mitage,  if  Henry  would  but  cease  from  his  displeasure.*  But 
that,  it  was  not  in  the-  nature  of  the  regal  monster  to  do. 
Fluctuate  he  might,  and  in  the  variations  of  his  fickle,  cruel 
mood  show  glimpses  of  relenting.  But  to  one,  who  had,  in 
truth,  once  incurred  his  resentment,  or,  what  was  the  same 
thing,  his  suspicion,  he  relented  never.  The  king  himself  took 
possession  of  his  palace  at  York  House,  and  the  cardinal  was 
banished  to  Esher,  a  large,  unfurnished  house,  where  he  dwelt 
for  above  three  months,  with  his  large  family,  destitute  of 
every  comfort  and  convenience,  neglected  by  his  friends — if  a 
fallen  favorite  have  any  friends — forgotten  by  the  king,  but 
unforgotten  by  his  enemies,  who  never  ceased  to  possess 
Henry’s  ear,  with  all  ill  rumors  against  him. 


•TheBisbip  of  Bayonne.  Quoted  by  Legrand,  iii.  871;  apud  Lingard,  vL  13S. 


FEAR  OF  WOI.SEy’s  ENEMIES. 


179 


At  last,  he  fell  ill  of  a  fever,  and  was  like  to  die ;  and,  then, 
for  a  moment  the  king  was  moved,  or  seemed  to  be  so.  lie 
sent  three  physicians  to  attend  him,  with  a  gracious  message, 
and  he  compelled  the  fair  Boleyn  to  present  the  sick  man  with 
a  tablet  of  gold  in  token  of  reconciliation.  Shortly  after  his 
recovery,  by  the  aid  of  Cromwell,  he  effected  an  arrangement 
with  his  enemies,  on  granting  them,  or  their  friends,  annuities 
out  of  the  bishopric  of  Winchester,  in  virtue  of  which  he  was 
allowed  to  retain  the  jurisdiction  of  his  archbishopric  of  York, 
both  temporal  and  spiritual,  and  an  annuity  of  a  thousand 
marks  from  the  bishopric  of  Winchester,  making  over  to  the 
king,  in  consideration  thereof,  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life, 
all  his  revenues,  patronage,  and  rights  arising  from  that  see, 
or  from  his  abbacy  of  St.  Albans.  For  a  short  time,  he  was 
allowed  to  reside  at  Richmond  ;  but  his  enemies  feared  his 
residence  so  near  to  the  ear  of  Henry,  being  constantly  in  ter¬ 
ror  that  he  would  recover  his  influence  with  his  master,  who 
ever  seemed  to  have  a  yearning  toward  his  old  and  faith¬ 
ful  servant ;  and  procured  an  order  that  he  should  repair  tc 
his  own  archbishopric  of  York,  and  reside  within  its  limits. 

Here  he  conducted  himself  with  such  a  mixture  of  quiet 
dignity,  liberal  generosity,  Christian  charity,  and  clerical  pro¬ 
priety,  that  he  gained  all  hearts.  He  became  beloved,  alike 
by  the  rich  and  the  poor,  and  those  who  had  the  most  hated 
him  in  his  prosperity,  the  most  inclined  toward  him  in  his  ad¬ 
versity.  Still  Anne’s  word  was  ever  against  him.  She  was 
the  “  night  crow,”  as  he  said,  that  ever  whispered  in  the  royal 
ear  misrepresentations  of  his  most  loyal  and  most  virtuous  ac¬ 
tions.  I  cannot  hold  it  doubtful,  that,  at  this  moment,  it  was 
the  very  prudence  and  decorum  of  his  behavior,  busying  him¬ 
self,  solely,  with  the  spiritual  .and  temporal  concerns  of  his 


ISO 


wolsey’s  arrest  at  cawood. 


diocese,  that  doubly  armed  his  enemies  against  him,  fearful 
that  the  applause  he  was  acquiring  “  from  mouths  of  wisest 
censure,”  would,  in  the  end,  reinstate  him  in  the  royal  favor. 

On  the  7th  of  November,  he  had  invited  the  nobility  of  his 
county  to  assist  at  his  installation ;  on  the  fourth,  he  was  ar¬ 
rested  at  his  residence  at  Cawood,  on  a  charge  of  high  treason. 
The  charge  has  never  been  explained,  and  was,  unquestionably 
groundless.  If  there  were  any  shadow  of  cause  for  suspicion, 
it  must  have  arisen  from  the  fact  of  his  correspondence  with 
the  pope,  with  Francis,  and  with  Louise,  the  queen  mother  of 
France  ;  all  of  them  friends  and  allies  of  his  master.  He  as¬ 
serted,  himself,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  that  the  ob¬ 
ject  of'this  correspondence  was  to  induce  those  illustrious  per 
sonages  to  interest  themselves  in  reconciling  him  with  Henry, 
apart  from  whose  favor  it  would  really  seem  that  he  could  not 
exist,  more  than  a  tropical  plant,  deprived  of  sunshine. 

The  closing  scene  of  this  great  man — for,  if  he  had  his  errors 
of  ambition,  vanity,  and  pride,  as  who  hath  not  his  errors?  he 
was  still  bolh  a  great  man  and  a  great  minister — is  so  admira¬ 
bly  and  so  curtly  told  by  Lingard,'*  that  I  make  no  apology 
for  quoting  the  passage  entire. 

“  His  health,”  says  he,  (he  suffered  much  from  the  dropsy,) 
“would  not  allow  him  to  travel  with  expedition;  and  at  Shef¬ 
field  park,  a  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  he  was  seized 
with  a  dysentery,  which  confined  him  a  fortnight  As  soon 
as  he  was  able  to  mount  his  mule,  he  resumed  his  jour 
ney ;  but  feeling  his  strength  rapidly  decline,  he  said  to  the 
Abbot  of  Leicester,  as  he  entered  the  gate  of  the  monastery, 
Father  Abbot,  I  am  come  to  lay  my  bones  among  you.’  He 
was  immediately  carried  to  his  bed  ;  and,  the  second  day,  see 


♦  Vol.  iv.  163. 


DEATH  OF  WOLSEr. 


1S1 


ing  Kingston,  the  lieutenant  of  the  tower,  in  his  chamber,  he 
addressed  him  in  these  well-known  words:  ‘Master  Kings¬ 
ton,  I  pray  you  have  me  commended  to  his  majesty ;  and  be¬ 
seech  him  on  my  behalf  to  call  to  mind  all  things  that  have 
passed  between  us,  especially  respecting  good  Queen  Katha¬ 
rine  and  himself;  and  then  shall  his  grace’s  conscience  know 
whether  I  have  offended  him  or  not.  He  is  a  prince  of  most 
royal  courage ;  rather  than  miss  any  part  of  his  will,  he  will 
endanger  one  half  of  his  kingdom;  and  I  do  assure  you,  I  have 
often  kneeled  before  him,  sometimes  for  three  hours  together, 
to  persuade  him  from  his  appetite,  and  could  not  prevail.  And, 
Master  Kingston,  had  I  but  served  God  as  diligently  as  I  have 
served  the  king,  he  would  not  have  given  over  my  gray  hairs. 
But  this  is  my  just  reward  for  my  pains  and  study,  not  re¬ 
garding  my  service  to  God,  but  only  my  duty  to  my  prince.’ 
Having  received  the  last  consolations  of  religion,  he  expired 
the  next  morning,  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age.  The  best 
eulogy  on  his  character  is  to  be  found  in  the  contrast  between 
the  conduct  of  Henry,  before  and  after  the  cardinal’s  fall. 
As  long  as  Wolsey  continued  in  favor,  the  royal  passions  were 
confined  within  certain  bounds ;  the  moment  his  influence  was 
extinguished,  they  burst  through  every  restraint,  and  by  their 
caprice  and  violence  alarmed  his  subjects,  and  astonished  the 
other  nations  of  Europe.” 

His  death,  of  course,  induced  a  total  change  of  the  royal 
councils.  Sir  Thomas  More  became  chancellor  ;  Sir  William 
Fitzwilliam  succeeded  More,  as  treasurer  of  the  household,  and 
chancellor  of  the  duchy  of  Lancaster ;  Dr.  Stephen  Gardiner 
was  appointed  secretary  to  the  king.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
Anne’s  uncle,  as  president  of  the  council,  her  father,  the  Vis¬ 
count  Rochefort,  lately  created  Earl  of  Wiltshire,  and  the 


182 


BREVE  BY  POPE  CLEMENT. 


Duke  of  Suffolk,  of  the  same  party,  retained  their  places,  aud 
ruled  the  council,  as  absolutely  as  Anne  ruled  the  king.  From 
this  time  forth,  Henry  held  no  intercourse  with  his  queen ; 
while  on  the  contrary,  Anne,  who  had  ceased  altogether  from 
residing  in  her  father’s  house,  lived  constantly  under  the  same 
roof  with  him,  ate  at  the  same  table  with  him,  assisted  at  his 
councils,  was  present  with  him  on  all  his  journeys,  at  all  pub¬ 
lic  ceremonies,  at  all  his  parties  of  pleasure.  In  a  word,  when 
we  find,  as  we  shall  see  subsequently,  that,  when  this,  at  the 
least,  doubtful  and  indecorous  mode  of  life  had  continued  three 
whole  years,  she  was  secretly  married  to  the  king,  on  the  25th 
of  January,  which  marriage  was  not  acknowledged  until  the 
first  of  June,  and  bore  him  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  on  the  7th 
day  of  September,  1533,  all  these  events  taking  place  previ¬ 
ously  to  the  annulling  of  his  marriage  with  Katharine,  we  shall 
have  no  difficulty  in  coming  to  the  conclusion,  that  she  was 
living  with  him  in  open  adultery,  as  his  avowed  mistress, 
though  doubtless  under  the  most  positive  promises  of  being 
raised  to  the  throne,  so  soon  as  a  divorce  should  be  obtained, 
which  Henry  certainly  expected  to  occur  much  sooner,  and  to 
be  effected  much  more  easily  than  proved  to  be  the  case. 

Three  years  elapsed,  in  fact,  during  which,  so  far  from  ma¬ 
king  any  progress  toward  gaining  his  object,  he  was  constantly 
losing  ground.  In  1530,  a  reconciliation  took  place  between 
the  courts  of  Rome  and  Madrid,  and  a  congress  occurring  be¬ 
tween  the  emperor  and  the  pope,  at  Bologna,  Henry,  hoping 
to  gain  his  end  by  mollifying  Charles,  sent  an  embassy,  at  the 
head  of  which  he  placed  the  Earl  of  Wiltshire,  a  choice  which 
only  irritated  Charles,  who  induced  Clement  to  issue  a  breve 
forbidding  Henry  to  marry  until  his  sentence  should  be  pub- 


THE  QUESTION  OF  THE  DIVORCE. 


183 


llshod,  and  ordering  him  to  treat  Katharine  as  his  lawful  wife. 
In  England,  where  his  influence  would  have  seemed  the  most 
certain  to  prevail,  he  only  at  length  extorted  a  favorable  an¬ 
swer  from  the  universities  by  threats  and  even  open  violence. 
In  'taly,  by  dint  of  immense  bribery,  he  obtained  favorable 
decisions  from  Bologna,  Padua,  and  Ferrara;  but  in  the  Get- 
manic  states  he  could  not  gain  the  assentient  voice  of  a  single 
public  body.  Even  the  reformed  churches  and  divines,  hos¬ 
tile  as  they  were  to  the  pope  and  the  emperor,  openly  and 
clamorously  opposed  the  divorce.  Luther  himself  wrote  to 
the  royal  agent,  that  he  “  would,  rather  than  approve  of  such 
a  divorce,  permit  the  king  to  wed  a  second  queen,  and,  after 
the  example  of  the  patriarchs  and  kings  of  old,  to  have  two 
wives  or  queens  at  the  same  time.”* 

Francis  he  bribed,  by  a  surrender  of  his  claim  for  five  hun¬ 
dred  thousand  crowns  due  to  him  by  treaty,  by  the  present  of 
a  lily  of  diamonds  pledged  to  his  father  by  Charles  and  Max¬ 
imilian,  for  fifty  thousand  crowns  of  gold,  and  by  a  farther  loan 
of  four  hundred  thousand  crowns,  to  exert  his  influence  over 
the  fourteen  French  universities,  which  the  Bishop  of  Bayonne 
had  already  been  soliciting  in  his  behalf.  Still  he  advanced  so 
little,  that,  in  reply  to  a  letter  to  the  pope,  which  he  procured 
to  be  written  in  the  name  of  the  nation,  signed  by  all  the 
peers,  temporal  and  spiritual,  and  by  a  certain  number  of  the 
principal  commoners,  urging  an  immediate  decision  of  this 
vexed  question,  in  the  king’s  favor,  he  received  this  cold  reply 
— that  Clement  “  was  ready  to  proceed  with  the  cause  imme 
diately,  and  to  show  to  the  king  every  indulgence  and  favor 
compatible  with  justice;  one  thing  only  he  begged,  in  i© 


*  Luther!  Epist.  liaise,  1717,  p.  29. 


184 


CROMWELL  ADVISES  IIENRV. 


turn,  that  they  would  not  require  of  him  through  gratitude  to 
man,  to  violate  the  immutable  commandments  of  God.”  * 

For  once  Henry  wavered.  He  fancied  the  difficulties  insur¬ 
mountable,  and  told  his  confidants  that  he  had  been  deceived  ; 
that  he  should  never  have  sought  for  a  divorce,  had  he  not 
been  led  to  believe  that  the  pope’s  concurrence  might  easily 
be  obtained,  and  that,  finding  that  assurance  false,  he  was 
minded  to  abandon  the  attempt  forever.  He  had,  in  fact,  car¬ 
ried  his  suit  with  Anne,  had  been  disappointed  by  her  not 
bearing  him  a  son,  or  appearing  likely  to  do  so ;  and  his  ar¬ 
dor  for  the  divorce,  as  his  passion  for  Anna,  were  on  the 
decline. 

But  at  this  moment,  Cromwell,  who  had  risen,  from  being  a 
servitor  of  Wolsey,  on  the  ruin  of  his  patron,  instigated  un¬ 
doubtedly  by  Anne  and  her  friends,  suggested  to  Henry  the 
wisdom  of  following  the  example  of  the  German  princes,  sha¬ 
king  off  the  yoke  of  Rome,  declaring  himself  the  head  of  the 
church  within  his  own  realm,  and  taking  into  his  own  hands 
all  the  powers  and  privileges  usurped  by  the  pontiff.  The  av¬ 
aricious  and  ambitious  tyrant  listened  in  astonishment  and  de¬ 
light.  It  was  not  now  his  passion  for  Anna  only — that  was, 
perhaps,  half  satiated,  and  required  some  newer  stimulus — it 
was  his  greed  of  gold,  his  burning  thirst  for  authority  and 
power,  that  were  now  awakened.  Cromwell  was  sworn,  at 
once,  a  member  of  the  privy  council,  and  instructed  forthwith 
to  take  measures  for  carrying  out  his  project. 

The  same  iniquitous  plan  was  resorted  to  now,  as  had  been 
adopted  in  the  prosecution  of  Wolsey.  By  submitting  to  the 
cardinal’s  jurisdiction,  all  the  clergy  of  the  realm  had  become 
equal  participators  in  the  crime  of  which  he  had  confessed  him 

tLIngard,  vi.  174,  quoting  from  Burnet  an«l  Herbert  of  Cherbury. 


SUPREME  HEAD  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


185 


self  guilty,  as  offending  against  the  statutes  of  praemunire. 
And  the  attorney-general  was  instructed  to  file  a  bill,  in  the 
king’s  bench,  against  the  whole  body  of  the  church  of  England. 
Terror-stricken,  astonished,  and  deprived  of  any  defence  by 
Wolsey’s  plea  of  guilty,  they  offered  to  pay  a  hundred  thou¬ 
sand  pounds  for  a  free  pardon,  but  the  proposal  was  refused, 
except  on  the  condition  that,  in  the  preamble  to  the  grant, 
they  should  acknowledge  the  king  to  be  “  the  protector  and 
only  supreme  head,  under  God,  of  the  clergy  and  church  of 
England.” 

After  a  consultation  and  conferences,  which  lasted  three 
whole  days,  Henry  consented  to  the  insertion  of  the  words, 
“  so  far  as  the  law  of  Christ  allows,”  previous  to  “  supreme 
head  ;”  by  which,  in  fact,  the  whole  recognition  was  invalida¬ 
ted,  since  it  was  clearly  left  to  individual  judgment  to  decide 
whether  the  “  laws  of  Christ”  would,  or  would  not,  allow  the 
king’s  supremacy.  As  yet,  this  was  a  matter  of  no  impor 
tance,  for  Henry  had  not  yet  resolved  on  seizing  either  the 
privileges,  or  the  possessions,  of  the  church;  and,  whatever  he 
might  contemplate  for  the  future,  only  aimed  for  the  present 
at  intimidating  the  pope  into  submission  to  his  will.  This, 
however,  he  failed  to  do  ;  and,  in  the  month  of  January,  1531, 
the  inhibitory  breve,  which  had  been  issued  the  preceding  year, 
was  published  in  Flanders,  forbidding  the  king  to  proceed  in 
his  divorce  of  Katharine,  or  in  his  marriage  with  Anne ;  and, 
although  he  made  every  effort  to  induce  the  injured  queen  to 
submit  her  question  to  the  decision  of  four  temporal  and  four 
spiritual  peers,  he  availed  nothing,  that  noble-spirited  woman 
remaining  constant  in  her  determination  to  “  abide,  until  the 
church  of  Rome,  which  wras  privy  to  the  beginning,  shall  have 
made  an  end  of  the  marriage.”  In  this  year,  Henry  would 


ISO 


PAYMENT  OF  ANNATES  FORIDDEN. 


have  bestowed  on  Reginald  Pole,  son  of  Sir  Richard  Pole,  and 
Margaret,  duchess  of  Salisbury  —  who  was  daughter  of  that 
George,  duke  of  Clarence,  of  Malmsey  memory,  drowned  in 
the  tower  by  his  own  brother’s  orders — the  bishoprics  of  York 
and  Winchester,  vacant  since  Wolsey’s  death,  if  that  spirited 
youth,  bred  to  the  church  in  the  university  of  Padua,  and  des¬ 
tined  by  the  king,  his  kinsman,  to  the  highest  dignities  in  his 
possession,  would  have  consented  to  give  his  decision  in  favor 
of  the  divorce.  This,  after  many  struggles  with  himself  and 
debates  with  his  brethren,  he  could  not  prevail  on  himself  to 
do,  and,  the  king  not  wholly,  even  yet,  withdrawing  his  favor, 
was  permitted  to  leave  England  and  return  to  Italy,  where  he 
had  commenced  them,  for  the  prosecution  of  his  studies.  The 
vacant  sees  were  conferred  on  Lee,  and  on  Gardiner,  the  latter 
of  whom  had  hoped  to  gain,  and  might  have  succeeded  in  gain¬ 
ing,  the  influence  of  Wolsey,  had  he  not  been  outstripped  by 
the  growing  predominance  of  the  yet  more  ambitious  and  un¬ 
scrupulous  Cromwell. 

In  the  meantime,  Henry,  despairing  of  bringing  Clement  to 
terms  by  conciliation,  refused  to  plead  in  person  at  Rome,  or 
to  send  an  excusator,  endowed  with  full  powers,  to  account  for 
the  cause  of  his  absence,  and  convoked  his  parliament.  They 
assembling  in  the  beginning  of  January,  passed  a  series  of 
bills,  which  wrere  the  commencement  of  that  great  revolution, 
which  ended  in  the  total  abolition  of  Popish  power  in  the  Brit¬ 
ish  empire.  The  first  of  these  prohibited  all  payment  of  the 
annates,  or  first  fruits  of  the  Episcopal  sees,  to  the  see  of  Rome, 
by  the  English  bishops,  on  pain  of  forfeiture  to  the  king  by 
the  delinquent  of  the  profits  of  his  church  preferments.  The 
second  provided  for  the  consecration  of  future  English  bishops, 
by  the  archbishop,  or  two  other  prelates,  in  default  of  the  issue, 


ECCLESIASTICAL  MEASURES. 


187 


or  in  despite  of  the  prohibition,  of  the  necessary  Romish  oullg. 
A  third  measure,  yet  more  hostile  to  the  pretensions  of  Rome, 
was  the  compulsory  assent  of  the  clergy  to  a  declaration,  that 
they  would  never  more  enact,  publish,  or  enforce  their  consti¬ 
tutions,  without  the  royal  authority  and  assent ;  and  that  they 
would  submit  those,  now  in  existence,  to  a  committee  of  thirty- 
two,  half  laymen  and  half  clergymen,  with  the  king  superin¬ 
tending,  in  person,  for  rejection,  confirmation,  or  alteration. 
And  this,  thenceforth,  became  the  law  of  the  land  ;  and  here¬ 
after  the  bishop  of  Rome  ceased,  in  fact,  and  by  law,  to  hold 
any  jurisdiction,  spiritual  or  temporal,  within  the  dominions  of 
the  English  crown. 

No  idea,  it  must  be  observed,  had  been  as  yet  broached  of 
introducing  Protestant  or  Lutheran  doctrines  into  England  ; 
the  king,  to  gratify  whose  passions  the  whole  machinery  had 
been  set  in  motion  by  Cromwell,  was  bitterly  and  personally 
hostile  to  Luther,  and  came  to  be,  so  soon  as  Lutheranism 
showed  itself  at  all  prominently  in  his  dominions,  a  cruel  per 
secutor  of  the  professors  of  those  tenets  ;  the  principal  oppo¬ 
nents  of  Henry’s  pretensions  to  church  supremacy  were  not 
Lutherans,  but  Papists ;  and,  whatever  advances  had  been 
made,  thus  far,  to  the  abolition  of  a  Romish  and  the  establish¬ 
ment  of  an  Anglican  head  to  the  church  of  St.  Peter  within 
the  dominions  of  England,  none  whatever  had  occurred,  toward 
the  creation  of  a  Protestant  church  of  England.  On  the  con¬ 
trary,  for  some  time  after  this  date,  Henry  himself  professed 
his  willingness  to  be  reconciled  to  Clement  and  the  church, 
and  would  probably  have  carried  out  such  a  reconciliation,  had 
not  events  occurred,  which  precipitated  his  course  of  action, 
tnd  led  him  to  steps,  which  rendered  the  pope’s  assistance  un- 


188 


SECOND  MEETING  OF  KINGS. 


necessary,  as  after  circumstances  made  it  also  undesirable,  if 
not  impossible. 

During  the  summer  of  this  year,  1532,  Henry  having  re¬ 
newed  his  treaties  of  defensive  alliance  with  Francis,  against 
the  emperor,  Charles,  had  several  times  solicited  a  personal 
interview  with  the  king ;  but  he  now  urged  it  so  vehemently, 
that  it  could  not  be  declined  ;  pressing,  at  the  same  time,  that 
Anne  Boleyn  should  be  invited  to  be  present,  and  proposing 
that  Francis  should  bring  with  him  the  queen  of  Navarre,  since 
he  declined  meeting  the  queen  Eleanora  of  France,  as  being 
sister  to  his  enemy,  Charles. 

Whether  Anne  was  invited,  does  not  appear,  although  cir¬ 
cumstances  indicate  that  she  was  not,  since  the  queen  of  Na¬ 
varre  did  not  accompany  Francis  to  the  interview,  though 
Anne  Boleyn  was  present,  as  Marchioness  of  Pembroke;  which 
dignity,  with  remainder  to  the  heirs  male  of  her  body  forever, 
and  a  pension  of  two  thousand  pounds  per  annum,  had  been 
conferred  on  her  in  the  month  of  September  of  the  preceding 
year. 

The  real  cause  of  this  meeting  of  the  kings,  was  Henry’s  de¬ 
sire  to  secure  the  cooperation  of  Francis  in  discarding  the  au¬ 
thority  of  the  pope,  and  the  wish  of  Francis  to  reconcile  the 
king  of  England  with  Clement,  on  terms  agreeable  to  the  lat¬ 
ter — the  pretext  was  the  formation  of  a  confederacy  against  the 
Turks,  and  the  fearful  increase  of  their  dominion. 

At  a  mask,  given  by  Henry  to  his  brother  king,  at  Cnlai? 
the  French  monarch  danced  with  the  lovely  Anne,  and  on  tk 
following  morning  presented  her  with  “a  jewel  worth  f.P/.j 
thousand  crowns,”*  as  the  old  chronicler  has  it.  And,  a  dr  <r 


*  Hall’s  Chronicles,  108, 


ANNE  HENRY’S  MISTRESS. 


189 


mo  afterward,  the  two  princes  separated,  in  great  amity  ; 
Francis  having  written  to  Rome  complaining  of  the  affront, 
offered  to  all  crowned  heads,  by  the  citation  of  Henry  to  ap¬ 
pear  out  of  his  own  dominions,  and  inviting  the  pope  to  meet 
the  kings  at  Marseilles,  there  to  arrange  all  matters  amicably ; 
and  Henry  having  promised  Francis  that  he  would  proceed  no 
fai  ther  in  his  matters,  either  of  divorce  or  marriage,  until  after 
the  proposed  congress  should  have  been  held. 

It  should  have  been  stated  above,  in  the  order  of  events,  that 
in  July  of  1531,  on  her  refusal  to  submit  the  question  of  her 
marriage  to  an  English  board  of  arbitration,  Katharine 'had  re¬ 
ceived  an  order  to  quit  the  palace  at  Windsor,  whereupon  she 
retired  to  Ampthill,  declaring  that  “go  where  she  might,  she 
should  still  be  his  lawful  queen.”  On  her  withdrawal,  Anne 
unquestionably  occupied  her  place,  if  not  as  wife,  ostensibly  as 
companion,  and  scarce  unavowedly  as  mistress,  of  the  king.  In 
proof  of  which,  though  Protestant  historians  have  endeavored 
to  discredit  and  conceal  the  truth,  in  their  strange  misconcep¬ 
tion  that  Anne,  Lutheran  herself,  converted  Henry  by  love  of 
her  to  that  doctrine,  it  may  be  brought  to  memory  that,  prior 
to  this  conference  of  the  kings  at  Boulogne  and  Calais,  the  pope 
issued  a  breve  denouncing  excommunication  against  both  the 
king  and  his  mistress,  as  she  is  termed,  unless  within  one 
month  they  should  cease  from  cohabitation  ;  and  pronouncing 
their  marriage,  should  they  presume  to  marry  in  defiance  of 
his  inhibitory  mandate,  invalid  and  of  no  effect. 

But  now,  that  occurred  which  rekindled  all  Henry’s  passion 
for  the  mistress,  of  whom  he  seemed  more  than  half  satiated, 
and  redoubled  his  impatience  and  his  eager  cravings  for  instant 
divorce.  Anne,  at  length,  informed  him  that  she  was  in  that 
way  “  which  ladies  wish  to  be,  who  love  their  lords,”  and. 


190 


henry’s  MARRIAGE  TO  ANNE. 


moreover,  that  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  if  he  would  assure 
the  legitimacy  of  the  long  wished  for  heir  to  the  throne — for  heir 
they  were  resolved  that  it  should  be.  Accordingly,  his  prom¬ 
ise  to  the  French  king  must  be  broken ;  and,  on  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  January,  1533 — this  date  is  incontestably  shown  to  be 
correct  by  a  letter,  still  extant,  from  Archbishop  Cranmer  to 
his  friend  Hawkins,  the  emperor’s  ambassador  ;  though  Henry 
and  his  courtiers  asserted  that  the  marriage  was  celebrated 
November  14, 1532,  the  day  on  which  the  king  and  Anne  sailed 
from  Calais,  after  his  interview  with  the  king  of  France — 
at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  Henry  was  formally  espoused 
by  llowland  Lee,  one  of  the  royal  chaplains,  to  the  beautiful 
marchioness,  in  the  presence  of  Anne  Savage,  afterward  Lady 
Berkeley,  her  train-bearer,  and  of  Norris  and  Heneage,  two 
grooms  of  the  bed-chamber. 

It  is  pretended  that  the  marriage  had  taken  place  long  be¬ 
fore,  and  was  concealed  in  order  to  give  time  for  the  occur¬ 
rence  of  the  previously  arranged  meeting  with  the  pope  at 
Marseilles,  but,  that  meeting  being  deferred,  was  now  necessa 
rily  proclaimed,  in  order  to  save  the  lady’s  reputation,  and  se¬ 
cure  the  legitimacy  of  the  offspring.  How  either  reputation 
could  bo  saved,  or  legitimacy  secured,  does  not  appear;  nor 
could  it  have  occurred  to  any  one,  who  was  not  so  thoroughly 
consistent  in  inconsistency  as  Henry,  to  set  up  such  a  defence 
for  either  ;  when  he  was  yet  held  fast  by  marriage  to  another 
woman,  toward  divorce  from  whom  he  had  made  no  progress ; 
and,  when  in  denying  his  paramour  to  be  his  adulterous  con 
cubine,  he  only  asserted  himself  and  her  to  be  guilty  of  un 
qualified  bigamy. 

The  marriage,  however,  must  now  be  validated  at  all  cost. 


cranmer’s  elevation. 


10] 


especially  since  the  existence  or  non-existence  of  a  king  of  I ‘in 
gland  was  in  posse ,  if  not  in  esse. 

During  the  past  year,  Warham,  archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
who  had  contended  in  vain  with  Wolsey,  and  been  driven 
from  the  court  on  his  ascendency,  died;  and  “to  the  sur¬ 
prise  and  sorrow”  of  many,  Henry  determined  to  raise 
Cranmer— whose  zeal  in  favor  of  the  divorce,  his  book  in 
defence  thereof,  and  his  bold  advocacy  of  the  measure  at 
Rome,  had  conciliated  both  the  king’s  and  the  favorite’s  re- 
gard— though  he  had  not  long  been  in  holy  orders,  to  that  high 
dignity. 

This  man  was,  doubtless,  in  heart  a  reformer  and  Lutheran, 
and  had,  since  taking  orders,  married,  contrary  to  all  the  can 
ons  of  the  church,  the  niece  of  Osiander.  Yet  this  very  mar 
ried  priest  had  now  the  infamy  and  audacity  to  take  the  oath 
of  obedience  to  the  pope,  and  to  receive  the  consecrated  pallium 
at  the  hands  of  his  delegates,  having  previously  declared,  in 
the  presence  of  four  witnesses  and  a  notary,  in  the  chapter- 
house  at  Westminster,  that  by  the  oath  of  obedience  to  the 
pope,  which  he  swore  for  form’s  sake,  he  intended  nothing 
against  the  king’s  sole  supremacy,  as  head  of  the  church  of 
Christ,  or  against  any  reforms,  which  he  might  thereafter  judge 
it  necessary  to  make. 

A  worthy  commencement,  truly,  for  a  prelate,  who,  in  his 
heart,  a  convert  to  the  new  learning,  as  Lutheranism  was  then 
called,  was  so  base,  as  to  preach  constantly,  during  the  life  ot 
his  tyrant  master,  doctrines  and  a  faith  which  he  secretly  dis¬ 
believed  and  disavowed,  and  so  doubly  base  and  barbarous,  as 
to  condemn  to  the  fagot  and  the  stake  his  brother  believers, 
who  had  the  constancy  to  assert,  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  the 
creed  which  he,  like  the  devils,  believed  in  trembling,  while 


192 


THEOLOGIANS  AND  CANONISTS. 


he  persecuted  it  to  the  utmost.  That  he  should  himself,  in 
after  times,  have  died  the  same  cruel  death,  is  but  an 
instance  of  that  retributive  justice,  which  sometimes,  though 
rarely,  falls  upon  man,  as  if  by  direct  providence ;  but,  in 
view  of  his  scandalous  and  barbarous  career,  one  feels  more 
disposed  to  regret  that  he  should  have  received  the  honors, 
than  that  he  should  have  undergone  the  tortures,  of  mar¬ 
tyrdom. 

The  first  measure  taken  by  this  base  and  perjured  prelate 
was  to  write  a  letter  to  Henry,  as  if  of  his  own  free  will  and 
suggestion,  beseeching  him,  for  the  better  regulation  of  the  suc¬ 
cession  of  the  crown,  to  allow  him  to  take  cognizance  of  the  case 
in  his  archiepiscopal  court,  and  hear  the  cause  of  the  divorce, 
and  put  an  end,  as  a  duty  to  God  and  the  king,  to  the  doubts 
concerning  the  validity  of  the  marriage.  The  next  step  was 
to  procure  the  passing  of  an  act  of  parliament,  prohibiting,  un¬ 
der  the  penalties  of  praemunire ,  any  appeal  from  the  spiritual 
judges  of  England  to  the  courts  of  the  pontiff.  A  convocation 
was  then  assembled,  consisting  of  two  courts,  one  of  theologi¬ 
ans,  the  other  of  canonists,  who  should  give  their  decisions 
severally.  To  the  theologians  was  submitted  the  question — 
‘  Can  a  Papal  dispensation  validate  the  marriage  of  one  brother 
with  another  brother’s  widow,  the  first  marriage  having  been 
consummated?”  Of  the  canonists  it  was  asked,  “Were  the 
proofs  submitted  to  the  legate,  Cardinal  Campeggio,  sufficient 
canonical  proof  of  such  consummation?” 

The  theologians  decided  against  the  power  of  the  pope’s  dis¬ 
pensation,  to  render  such  a  marriage  valid,  by  sixty-six  dis¬ 
senting  voices  to  nineteen  ayes. 

The  canonists  declared  on  the  sufficiency  of  proofs,  by  thirty- 
eight  ayes  to  six  negative  votes. 


DIVORCE  PRONOUNCED. 


193 


Both  courts  thus  deciding,  directly,  in  Henry’s  favor,  he 
granted  to  Cranrner  his  royal  permission  to  proceed  in  his 
court,  though  he  judged  it  necessary,  in  the  first  place,  to  re¬ 
mind  him  that  he  was  only,  as  primate  of  England,  the'  prin¬ 
cipal  minister  of  the  indefeasible  spiritual  jurisdiction  res¬ 
ident  hi  the  crown,  and  that  “the  sovereign  had  no  supe¬ 
rior  on  earth,  and  was  not  subject  to  the  laws  of  any  earthly 
creature.”  * 

The  ambassador  of  Francis,  in  vain,  protested  that  this  pro¬ 
cedure  was  in  violation  of  Henry’s  engagements,  at  Calais  and 
Boulogne,  with  his  master.  Cranmer  was  ordered  to  proceed, 
and  Katharine  was  cited  to  appear  before  him,  at  Dunstable, 
near  Ampthill,  where  she  resided. 

The  service  of  the  citation  was  proved  on  the  tenth  day  of 
May,  and  on  her  non-appearance  she  was  pronounced  “  contu¬ 
macious.”  On  the  twelfth,  a  second  citation  was  proved,  when 
she  was  pronounced  “  verily  and  manifestly  contumacious,” 
and  the  court  proceeded  to  hear  arguments  and  read  deposi¬ 
tions,  in  proof  of  tne  consummation  of  her  marriage  with 
Prince  Arthur.  On  the  seventeenth,  she  was  a  third  time 
cited  to  hear  the  judgment  of  the  court ;  but  to  none  of  these 
citations  did  she  pay  any  attention,  having  been  advised  that 
to  do  so  would  be  to  admit  the  archbishop’s  jurisdiction. 
Cranmer,  therefore,  on  the  Friday  of  ascension-week,  pro¬ 
nounced  the  marriage  between  her  and  Henry  null  and  invalid, 
having  been  contracted  and  consummated  in  defiance  of  the 
divine  prohibition,  and,  therefore,  without  force  and  effect  from 
the  very  beginning. 

Thus,  at  the  expense  of  all  honor,  honesty,  justice,  and  reli- 


1 


*  State  Papers,  I.  890. 


13 


194 


THIRD  DIVISION  OF  HIS  LIFE. 


gion,  by  the  present  change  of  the  whole  ecclesiastical  polity, 
and  future  alteration  of  the  entire  faith  of  a  great  nation,  by  a 
total  subversion  of  all  domestic  laws,  and  disruption  of  foreign 
relations,  was  consummated,  to  gratify  a  bad  man’s  carnal 
lust,  and  a  bad  king’s  insane  caprice  for  an  heir  male,  this 
great  and  flagrant  wrong,  against  a  woman,  justly  admitted, 
in  all  times,  to  be  of  the  most  virtuous,  the  most  woman¬ 
ly,  the  most  queenly,  the  most  loyal,  and  most  royal,  of 
her  sex. 

But  let  none  say,  that  Katharine  was  unavenged.  On  that 
day,  forever,  Henry’s  good  angels  all  abandoned  him.  From 
that  day,  no  one  of  the  manly  virtues,  no  one  of  the  kingly 
graces,  any  more  abode  with  him.  Up  to  this  time,  he  had 
been  a  man,  though  an  obstinate,  a  selfish,  and  a  willful  man — 
a  king,  though  a  despotic,  arrogant,  self-sufficient  and  ungov¬ 
ernable  king.  Henceforth,  he  was  a  wild  beast,  a  Nero,  a 
monster,  and  almost  a  demon.  Henceforth  he  was  deserted 
by  his  better  genius,  given  up,  soul  and  body,  “  to  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil.” 

Little  as  there  has  been,  heretofore,  of  pleasant  to  record,  or 
to  read,  concerning  him,  henceforth  there  is  nothing  but  brutal 
lust,  barbarity,  and  butchery,  perpetrated,  as  it  would  seem, 
for  the  very  love  of  blood. 

Fortunately,  the  record  will  be  short ;  for,  although  there 
remain  yet  fourteen  years,  the  worst  years,  of  his  detested  life 
to  be  related,  before  his  unregretted  death  consigned  him  to 
posterity,  which  holds  his  memory  in  equal  awe  and  loathing, 
and  liberated  England  from  an  incubus  of  blood  and  crime,  the 
events  of  this  third  division  of  his  reign  are  so  narrowly  sepa¬ 
rated  from  the  circumstances  of  his  five  later  marriages,  and 


EVENTS  PROPERLY  DETAILED  HEREAFTER. 


1^5 


so  little  connected  with  the  affairs,  either  foreign  or  domestic, 
of  his  people,  that  they  are  more  properly  detailed  with  thi  for¬ 
tunes  of  the  five  hapless  ladies,  who  had,  successively,  the  mis¬ 
ery  to  be  his  wives ;  and  in  the  memoirs  of  these,  they  will 
be  chiefly,  as  more  suitably,  related. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FROM  THE  DIVORCE  OF  QUEEN  KATHARINE,  1533,  10  HENRf’s 
DEATH,  1547. 

The  second  phase  of  Henry’s  character, /as  developed  in  the 
period  intervening  between  the  general  pacification  and  the  di¬ 
vorce  of  Queen  Katharine^ may  be  regarded  as  one  of  ungov¬ 
ernable  selfishness,  inconsiderate  obstinacy,  reckless  and  furious 
impetuosity  in  accomplishing  his  own  purposes,  with  a  to¬ 
tal  disregard  to  all  rights  of  individuals  or  countries,  to  all 
real  interests  of  himself  or  his  people,  arising,  in  the  main, 
from  mere  animal  licentiousness,  and  fierce  rage,  at  op¬ 
position,  like  that  of  the  wild  bull  which  shuts  his  eyes, 
and  dashes  headlong  against  the  first  obstacle,  only  because 
it  is  an  obstacle,  to  the  indulgence  of  his  own  passion. 

Still,  though  he  had  shed  blood,  he  had  shown  no  special 
thirst  for  it,  nor  seemed  to  desire  to  spill  it,  except  when  he 
fancied  that  he  should  avert  some  political  peril  by  the  spill- 
ling.  In  two  instances,  he  had  shown  some  fingerings  of  self- 
respect,  and  some  rare  touches  of  humanity.  He  had  been 
induced,  not  without  difficulty,  to  sanction  the  measures 
which  ruined  Wolsey,  though  he  believed  him  guilty  of  luke¬ 
warmness  in  the  prosecution  of  his  “  secret  matter ;  ”  still  he 
would  not,  I  believe,  ever  have  consented  to  the  execution  of 
that  once  loved  friend  and  minister.  Again,  in  the  case  of 


THE  WONDER  OF  SUBMISSION. 


197 


Reginald  Pole,  who  was  the  scion  of  a  race  which  he  regarded 
as  especially  hostile  and  antagonistic  to  his  own,  and  who  had 
himself  crossed  him  in  his  tenderest  point,  and  offended  him 
by  opposition  where  he  looked  for  support,  he  had  shown  a 
sort  of  fitful  generosity,  which  he  never  displayed  in  any  case 
again,  and  which  seems  to  have  utterly  surprised  all  who  wit 
nessed  it;  so  thoroughly  did  all  around  him  comprehend  al¬ 
ready  what  would  be,  when  once  fairly  aroused,  the  dormant 
instincts  of  the  royal  savage.  After  this  time,  his  obstinacy  , 
partially  disappeared,  because  he  found  little  or  no  opposition  ( 
which  should  call  it  forth  ;  for  no  one  dared  any  longer  to  op¬ 
pose  his  intimated  will,  unless  it  were  a  few  fanatics,  or  mar¬ 
tyrs,  for  religion’s  sake,  whom  he  instantly  consigned  to  the  I 
fagot  or  the  scaffold,  and  his  divorced  wife,  who  alone,  it  is  truly 
said,  of  men  or  women,  ever  braved  his  will  with  impunity. 
His  lust  increased  into  something  akin  to  madness;  his  ca¬ 
prices  were  so  whimsically  willful  and  extraordinary,  that,  but 
for  their  fearful  and  appalling  consequences,  they  would  be 
ludicrous;  but  his  cruelty,  his  insatiable  thirst  for  blood,  nothing 
but  blood,  which  no  claims  of  gratitude,  no  memories  of  affec-  / 
tion,  no  ties  of  friendship,  no  bonds  of  kindred  could  divert,  be-  i 
came,  henceforth,  the  ruling  passion,  the  unmistakable  charac-  * 
ter,  of  his  declining  years.  During  this  period,  that  is,  indeed, 
true  of  him,  which  the  ambassador  of  Francis  wrote  to  his 
master,  that,  “truly,  he  was  a  marvellous  man,  and  had  mar¬ 
vellous  people  about  him” — not  the  least  of  the  marvel  lying 
in  this,  that  there  was  no  law  of  the  realm,  which  he  did  not 
override,  the  moment  it  thwarted  either  his  lust  or  his' ven¬ 
geance,  by  the  aid  of  the  very  parliaments  whose  interest,  as 
duty,  it  was  to  defend  it;  no  liberty  of  the  subject  which  he 
did  not  subvert,  by  the  cooperation  of  the  very  persons  or- 


198 


STRANGE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIMES. 


dained  to  conserve  it.  In  a  word,  that,  throughout  all  that  bold 
and  free  England,  of  late  so  turbulent  and  difficult  to  rule, 
even  by  comparatively  moderate  and  gentle  princes,  among 
all  that  proud  and  restless  Norman  nobility,  erst  so  prompt 
to  offer  armed  resistance  even  to  lawful  rule,  no  resistance  was 
so  much  as  attempted  against  his  ruthless  and  organized  bar¬ 
barity.  Even  more  wonderful  is  it,  that  even  of  those,  who 
fell  by  his  sanguinary  mandates  on  the  scaffold,  none  dared,  so 
abject  was  their  terror,  so  blind  their  submission  to  this  “  ty¬ 
rant  bloody-sceptered,”  even  to  declare  their  innocence,  and 
so  “  impugn  the  justice  of  the  king,”  in  that  last  moment,  when 
the  axe  was  bared  and  the  block  ready,  when  hope  or  fear  could 
exist  no  longer,  and,  save  the  last  parting  pang,  the  bitterness 
of  death  was  over. 

No  promise,  one  would  imagine,  to  speak  nothing  deroga¬ 
tory  to  the  monster  who  slew,  so  unrighteously,  both  the  in¬ 
nocent  and  guilty,  would  restrain  some  one  of  those  unnum¬ 
bered  victims  from  declaring  aloud  his  own  innocence,  at  that 
inevitable  instant,  when  no  farther  punishment  could  follow  the 
breach  of  it,  and  when  the  last  and  most  natural  wish  of  man, 
to  live  unsullied  on  the  tongue  of  posterity,  would,  it  should 
seem,  survive  and  overrule  all  respect  for  princes,  all  fear  of 
king  or  kaisar. 

But  so  it  was  not.  In  this  veritable  reign  of  terror,  brave 
men  died  by  the  axe,  intrepidly,  but  silent; loyal  men  perished, 
without  a  word  on  their  lips  to  indicate  that  they  were  not  the 
traitors  they  were,  without  proof  or  trial,  pronounced  to  be. 
Weak  woman  showed  no  dread  of  the  sharp  and  sudden  blow, 
yet  passed  away,  leaving  it  in  doubt,  whether  they  were  in¬ 
cestuous  and  adulteresses,  or  whether  they  were  innocently,  as 
well  as  illegally,  brought  down  to  the  block  ;  when  but  a 


SILENCE  IN  HEATH. 


199 


breath  of  theirs  would  have  turned,  to  the  ear  of  posterity,  the 
balanced  scales  of  opinion.  More  wondrous  yet,  the  alleged 
accomplices  of  these  women,  dying  before  them,  so  that  their 
last  declarations,  if  they  were  innocent,  might  have  availed 
those  somewhat,  died  the  death,  neither  confessing,  nor  deny¬ 
ing,  crimes  so  incredible  as  a  brother’s  incest  with  his  own 
sister. 

Of  a  truth,  if  Henry  were  a  marvellous  man,  or  monster, 
as  no  one  is  likely  to  deny,  his  aiders  and  abetters,  his  victims, 
his  judges,  his  nobles,  his  commons,  his  whole  people,  were,  if 
anything,  more  marvellous  than  he. 

In  the  French  reign  of  popular  and  democratic  terror,  the 
submission  of  a  whole  nation  to  the  doom  of  a  handful  of  mur¬ 
dering  demagogues,  whom  they  could  have  overwhelmed,  in 
an  instant,  like  an  entering  ocean  in  its  wrath,  was  equal,  and 
equally  incomprehensible,  with  that  of  the  English,  during  En¬ 
gland’s  reign  of  autocratic  terror.  But  the  French  died,  call¬ 
ing  Heaven  to  witness  and  Hell  to  avenge;  proclaiming,  in  tones 
that  triumphed  over  death,  their  own  conscious  virtue,  and  de¬ 
nouncing,  with  eloquence  that  scathed,  like  lava,  all  on  whom 
it  flowed,  the  crimes  of  their  accursed  butchers. 

No  one  suspects  the  patriotism  of  one  victim  of  the  French 
revolution,  or  believes  in  the  alleged  treason  to  the  republio 
“one  and  indivisible;”  no  one  can  positively  deny  the  crimi¬ 
nality,  or  establish  the  purity,  of  one  of  Henry’s  murdered 
queens  or  nobles,  however  clearly  he  may  perceive  the  want 
of  proof  that  they  were  guilty,  and  the  savage  illegality  of 
their  doom. 

A  man  may  well  die  —  many  have,  doubtless,  died  —  ille¬ 
gally  convicted  of  crime,  yet  being  guilty  of  the  crime  of  which 
he  stands  convict.  With  both  of  Henry’s  miserable  consorts, 


200 


MARRIAGE  WITH  ANNE  LEGALIZED. 


who  died  bloody  deaths,  leaving  behind  them  doubtful  repu 
tations,  it  may,  or  it  may  not,  have  been  thus.  With  mor 
than  one  or  two,  of  those  condemned  with  them,  and  of  the 
nobles  attainted  and  slaughtered,  by  scores,  on  charge  of  trea¬ 
son,  so  also.  They  died  and  made  no  sign. 

If  some  of  the  princes  and  peers,  whom  he  slaughtered,  with¬ 
out  evidence  or  trial,  had  not  meditated,  prayed  for,  compassed 
his  death,  their  loyalty  was  more  a  marvel  than  a  virtue  ;  but 
it  is  to  be  remembered  that  not  one  ever  was  proved,  not  one 
ever  confessed,  to  have  deserved  his  doom.  And  if  every  one 
of  the  political  sufferers  of  this  reign  of  blood  had  been  justly 
slain,  the  hundreds,  some  say  thousands,  of  religionists,  to 
whom  no  choice  was  left  between  two  horns  of  the  dilemma, 
save  to  hang  as  traitors,  if  Papists,  or  to  burn  as  heretics,  if 
Protestants,  and  of  just  men  who  could  not  forswear  their  con¬ 
sciences,  were  yet  enough  to  sink  the  tyrant’s  soul  an  ocean 
of  fathoms  deep  in  innocent  and  righteous  gore. 

The  first  procedure  after  the  annulling  of  Henry’s  marriage 
with  Katharine,  was  a  declaration  officially  promulgated  by 
Cranmer,  in  his  court  at  Lambeth,  that  Henry  and  Anne  were 
and  had  been  joined  in  lawful  matrimony,  and  that  he  himself 
confirmed  it,  of  his  own  authority,  as  judge  and  prelate.  This 
occurred  on  the  28th  of  May,  1533,  and  had  their  marriage 
been  at  this  time  celebrated,  it  might  have  been  in  some  sort 
held  legal,  and  its  issue  legitimate  ;  but  to  assert  that  a  mar¬ 
riage  contracted  and  consummated,  months  before  another  ex- 
.sting  marriage  had  been  dissolved,  could  by  a  retrospective 
action,  validating  it  from  its  inception,  be  ex  post  facto  ren¬ 
dered  lawful,  and  its  issue,  palpably  begotten  during  the  con¬ 
tinuance  of  a  former  undissolved  contract,  constituted  legiti- 


CORONATION  OF  ANNE. 


201 


mate,*  requires  more  than  all  the  cynical  inconsistency  of 
Henry,  and  the  barefaced  impudence  of  its  clerical  and  lay 
advisers. 

On  the  first  of  June,  Anne  was  crowned  queen,  with  great 
pomp  and  unusual  magnificence,  amid  jousts  and  tournays,  gor. 
geous  processions  and  triumphal  arches,  banquets  and  barriers, 
splintering  of  lances,  bellowing  of  ordnance,  flowing  of  conduits 
with  wine  and  hypocras,  smooth  congratulations  of  the  nobil¬ 
ity,  loud  lip-loyalty  of  the  mob,  but  amid  the  secret  sorrow 
and  contained  wrath  of  the  English  people,  and  the  openly  ex¬ 
pressed  disgust  and  disdain  of  all  Europe,  Catholic  and  Prot¬ 
estant  alike,  without  distinction  of  party,  creed,  or  country. 

On  this  day  Anne  gained  the  cherished  wish  of  her  ambi¬ 
tious  heart,  the  crown  for  which  she  had  played  so  long,  so 
skillfully,  and,  it  must  be  said,  so  foully  —  the  crown,  which 
was  so  soon  to  bring  down  the  fair  head  that  wore  it,  in  sorrow 
to  a  bloody  grave.  She  was  the  queen  of  England ;  and  the 
last  queen,  in  that  cruel  reign,  although  four  yet  succeeded  her, 
who  was  indued  solemnly  with  the  diadem  of  the  English 
empire. 

On  this  day,  also,  Henry  satisfied  one  half  of  his  fiercest  as¬ 
pirations;  he  had  made  his  well-beloved  Anne,  from  his  mis¬ 
tress,  his  wife  ;  and  the  rest  was  in  process  of  accomplishment. 
An  heir  male  to  his  crown  was  within  expectation,  and  ho 
lacked  only  the  solemn  sanction  of  parliament  to  constitute 
him  lay  pope  of  the  church  of  England.  Still,  despot  as  ho 
was,  a  portion  of  his  will  failed  of  accomplishment.  He 

*  It  is  probable,  and  indeed  appears  from  the  declaration  of  Lee  and  Gardiner,  to 
Queen  Katharine,  to  that  effect,  that  after  the  divorce  had  been  pronounced  by  Cran- 
mer,  a  second  marriase  took  place.  But  it  is  not  on  record.  Nor  does  its  validity 
or  the  legitimacy  of  Elizabeth  stand  on  this  ground  of  defenos. 


202 


PERSISTENCE  OF  THE  QUEEN. 


could  not  force  the  designs  of  Providence,  nor  bend  to  his  will 
the  noble  heart  and  unwavering  confidence  of  one  royal-minded 
woman. 

On  the  seventh  of  September,  Anne  deceived  his  hopes  by 
bearing  him  a  girl,  stronger  to  be,  in  after  days,  than  any  man- 
monarch  who  has  preceded  or  succeeded  her  —  a  girl,  Eliza¬ 
beth,  thereafter,  the  woman-king  of  England.  But  this  the 
blinded  despot  saw  not ;  more  than  his  light  consort  discerned 
the  bloody  winding-sheet,  which  had  begun  already  to  enfold 
her,  still  slowly  creeping  upward  until  it  should  envelope,  to 
the  neck,  that  headless  trunk,  which  wTas  now  so  soft  and  fair 
to  look  upon.  The  first  warp  of  that  ensanguined  shroud  was 
struck,  on  the  day  and  hour  when  the  baffled  despot  cursed 
and  raved  over  the  birth  of  a  female  offspring. 

With  Katharine,  no  more  than  with  heaven,  not  profanely 
or  irreverently  be  it  spoken,  could  he  prevail  by  any  violence 
or  fury  of  intimidation.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  fulminated  his 
orders  against  her,  to  forbear  the  style  and  avoid  the  title  of 
queen,  contenting  herself  with  the  rank  of  dowager  princess  of 
WTales,  and  the  income  settled  on  her  by  her  husband,  Arthur. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  dismissed  such  of  her  attendants,  as 
should  presume  to  style  her  queen,  irrevocably  from  her  ser¬ 
vice.  To  every  injunction,  every  menace,  she  had  but  one 
answer.  She  had  “  come  a  clean  maid  to  his  bed.”  She 
would  never  slander  herself,  nor  bastardize  her  daughter. 
She  would  never  own  herself  to  have  been  twenty-four  years 
a  harlot.  She  valued  not  the  judgment  of  Dunstable,  at  a 
pin’s  fee.  She  had  lived,  and  would  die,  queen  of  England. 
And  she  did  so. 

Prelates  he  might  browbeat;  pontiffs  he  might  unseat;  par 
liaments  he  might  bend  into  pliant  tools ;  peers  he  might  un 


DOUBLE  DEALINGS  WITH  CLEMENT  AND  FRANCIS.  203 


make,  at  pleasure;  princes,  of  great  names  and  mighty  na¬ 
tions,  he  might  divide  and  conquer;  but  that  true  woman’s 
heart  was  all  too  strong  for  his  brute  violence ;  and  all  the 
puissance  of  his  sceptre,  all  the  terrors  of  his  sword,  could  not 
unqueen  that  royal  woman,  or  take  from  her  the  empire  she 
ha  1  won,  the  title  she  had  a  (Feared  in  the  heart  of  the  loyal 
English  people. 

If  Katharine  were  no  longer  queen  of  England,  she  was, 
more  than  ever,  queen  of  the  English  ;  and  if  he  robbed  her 
of  all  else,  even  her  brute  and  most  unworthy  husband  could 
never  wholly  rob  her  of  his  own  esteem.  For,  when  at  last 
she  exchanged  a  faded  earthly  crown,  for  an  incorruptible 
crown  in  heaven,  he  —  even  he,  who  garbed  himself  in  white, 
and  married  another  bride,  on  the  very  day  when  Anne  died — • 
who  bade  the  physicians  let  beautiful  Jane  Seymour  perish,  if 
they  might  save  her  son,  untimely  born,  “since  wives  vrcre  to 
be  had  for  the  getting,  but  sons  only  by  the  gift  of  God” — he, 
that  bloated,  bloody,  remorseless,  tearless  monster,  let  fall  one 
tear,  almost  his  only  one,  from  childhood  to  the  grave,  at 
tidings  of  her  decease,  who  certainly  loved  him  the  only  one 
of  women. 

But,  not  to  anticipate,  for  some  time,  appearances  were  kept 
up  by  Ilemv  with  both  the  pontiff  and  the  king  of  France,  as 
if  he  still  des'red  to  negotiate  and  to  be  reconciled;  but  still 
he  failed  ever  to  keep  his  engagements,  never  sending  plenary 
instructions,  or  full  powers  to  treat,  to  his  envoys.  Francis, 
from  policy,  Clement,  from  gratitude  and  real  liking  to  him, 
would  have  subserved  his  wishes ;  but  he  paltered  with  both, 
and,  in  the  end,  gulled  both  cgregiously.  To  the  pope  he  held 
out  greater  concessions,  than  ever  had  been  offered,  if  he  would 
but  annul  his  first,  and  ratify  his  second  marriage.  To  Fran- 


201 


clement’s  will  and  fear. 


cis  he  promised  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive  against  all  the 
world,  subsidies,  men,  money,  all  and  more  than  all  he  had 
ever  asked,  if  he  would  but  break  off  the  marriage  of  his  son, 
Orleans,  with  Catharine  di  Medici,  the  pope’s  niece,  and  deny¬ 
ing  Clement’s  authority,  follow  his  own  example,  discard  the 
ultramontane  head,  erect  a  French  church,  and  make  to  him¬ 
self  a  Gallican  patriarch,  abolishing  the  power  of  Rome  in 
France  forever. 

But  Clement,  though  he  had  the  will  to  do  so,  had  not  the 
daring  to  break  off  with  Charles,  and  draw  down  upon  Italy 
the  wrath  of  the  emperor,  as  he  must  have  done  by  sanction¬ 
ing  the  repudiation  of  his  aunt,  whose  rights  Spain  supported, 
unalterably,  as  a  point  both  of  faith  and  honor.  Moreover,  he 
could  not  command  his  cardinals  to  a  decision  foreign  to  their 
interests  and  their  pleasure,  to  the  laws  of  the  church  and  the 
dictates  of  their  consciences.  A  want  of  power,  on  his  part,  in¬ 
comprehensible  to  Henry,  who  was  used  to  ride  rough  shod 
over  all  scruples  of  religion,  all  principles  of  honor,  to  make 
the  faith  of  churchmen,  the  duty  of  parliaments,  the  very  stat¬ 
utes  and  constitutions  of  his  kindom,  bend  and  fall  prostrate, 
before  the  dictates  of  his  own  absolute  yea ! 

Francis  was  not  prepared  to  take  a  step  so  bold,  so  sudden, 
and,  above  all,  so  unlikely  to  be  supported  in  France  by  pub¬ 
lic  opinion,  and  by  the  sanction  of  the  great  barons  and  feuda¬ 
tories  of  the  kingdom  ;  who  still  retained,  and  who  indeed  pre¬ 
served  long  afterward,  until  their  powers  were  broken  by  the 
iron  rod  of  Richelieu,  a  might  which  the  peers  of  England  had 
lost  during  the  fatal  wars  of  the  Roses,  a  might,  which  no  king 
could  venture  to  dispute,  much  less  to  defy,  and  without  which, 
on  his  side,  he  was  powerless  against  a  foreign  enemy,  and 
profitless  among  his  own  people. 


TWO  ACTS  OF  PARLIAMENT. 


205 


But  Henry,  secure  at  home,  cared  for  the  proceedings  of 
neither ;  anticipated  the  action  of  both.  Before  the  ultimate 
decision  of  Rome,  confirming  the  marriage  of  Katharine,  and 
excommunicating  both  the  king  and  Anne  Boleyn,  unless  he 
repudiated  her  and  took  back  to  him  his  lawful  wife,  had 
reached  the  ears  of  Henry,  the  acts  had  passed  the  supreme 
courts  of  the  land,  from  which  lay  no  appeal,  subtracting  En¬ 
gland  from  the  sway  of  Rome,  and  prohibiting,  forever,  the  in¬ 
terference,  spiritual  or  temporal,  of  foreign  pontiff,  as  of 
foreign  potentate,  with  the  church,  as  with  the  state,  of  tho 
earthfast  isle. 

On  the  second  of  March,  1534,  the  blaze  of  bonfires,  the 
roar  of  artillery,  the  shouts  of  viva  VEspagna ,  viva  Vimperio 
expressed  the  joy  of  the  imperialists  at  the  sentence,  rendered 
by  nineteen  out  of  two-and-twepty  cardinals,  confirming  the 
rights  and  titles  of  the  noble  Spanish  princess,  and  deposing 
the  adulterous  concubine,  her  despised  and  hated  rival,  anc 
made  the  Vatican  resound  their  empty  exultation.  On  tho 
30th  of  the  same  month,  silently,  solemnly,  without  noise,  or 
congratulation,  or  shouting,  two  bills  passed  the  parliament 
of  England  and  received  the  royal  sanction.  The  one  erected 
the  submission  of  the  clergy,  made  the  previous  year,  into  a  law 
of  the  land.  The  other  set  aside  the  marriage  of  the  queen. 

By  this,  all  allegiance,  all  rendition  of  dues,  all  acknowledg- 
ment  of  powers  or  prerogatives,  all  appointment  of  prelates, 
all  enactment  of  bulls,  canons,  statutes,  having  force  on  En¬ 
glish  soil,  were  prohibited  to  Rome  forever.  All  the  powers, 
rights,  and  authorities,  all  payments  of  dues  or  droits,  all  nom¬ 
inations  to  preferment,  all  possessions  temporal  and  spiritual, 
formerly  belonging  to  the  pontiff,  were  by  this  act  attributed 
solely  to  the  king,  of  the  time  being.  All  the  existing  canons 


206 


THE  TWO  ACTS  OF  PARLIAMENT. 


ordinances,  and  constitutions  of  the  church,  at  that  time  exist¬ 
ing,  were  to  remain  in  force,  unless  modified  or  abrogated  as 
repugnant  to  the  statutes  or  customs  of  the  realm,  or  the  pre¬ 
rogatives  of  the  crown,  under  that  act  to  be  determined. 

Thus  was  the  power  of  the  pontiff  annihilated  at  a  blow, 
and  the  king  of  England,  in  esse,  erected  forever,  de  jure  et  de 
facto, into  the  supreme  head  of  the  Anglican  church,  spiritually 
no  less  than  temporally,  not  as  an  empty  title,  but  as  an  abi¬ 
ding  fact,  for  all  future  generations. 

By  the  second  act,  Katharine’s  marriage  was  invalidated  and 
made  null  and  of  no  effect,  from  the  beginning — Anne’s  lawful 
and  valid.  The  issue  of  Katharine  was  made  illegitimate,  and 
excluded  from  the  succession — that  of  Anne  rightly  born,  and  true 
heirs  to  the  crown.  To  declare  the  first  marriage  valid,  and  its  is 
sue  legitimate,  or  the  second  marriage  null,  and  its  issue  illegiti 
mate,  if  the  declaration  were  in  writing,  printing  or  in  deed, 
was  made  high  treason ;  if  by  words  only,  misprision  of  trea¬ 
son,  by  the  act. 

And  obedience  to  every  clause  of  both  these  acts,  every  sub¬ 
ject  of  the  king’s,  now  of  full  age,  or  who  should  thereafter 
come  of  age,  could  be  compelled  to  swear,  on  penalty  of  mis¬ 
prision  of  treason,  for  refusal. 

The  thunders  of  the  Vatican,  the  artillery,  the  trumpets,  and 
the  shouting  passed  away,  like  empty  sound  and  thin  air,  as  they 
were.  The  acts  of  parliament  endured,  and  are  still,  themselves, 
or  their  consequences,  in  England  and  in  Italy,  in  Europe  and 
in  America,  felt,  and  puissant  with  a  strong  vitality,  living  at  this 
day  throughout  the  world,  more  or  less,  everywhere. 

But  not  as  the  tyrant,  who  procured  their  enactment,  to  grat 
ify  his  own  vile  lusts,  intended  it.  He  would  have  had  an  old 
chuioh  with  a  new  head — he  made  a  new  church,  with  no  head 


PERFECT  SUCCESS  OF  HENRY'S  SCHEMES. 


207 


at  all,  save  the  Almighty  and  Eternal  Head,  the  Everliving 
Truth  in  Heaven.  He  would  have  extinguished  liberty  of  con¬ 
science,  liberty  of  speech,  of  thought,  of  action,  of  self-govern¬ 
ment,  utterly  and  forever.  Under  the  will  of  Providence,  in 
whose  hand  his  forceful  but  ephemeral  tyranny  was  but  a  sha¬ 
ping  instrument,  he  rendered  freedom  what  it  is  to-day,  omnipo¬ 
tent  and  ubiquitous,  felt  where  it  is  least  heard  by  the  general 
ear,  perceived  where  it  is  least  seen  by  the  public  eye,  and 
thundered  into  the  conscience  of  the  deafest  and  darkest  despo¬ 
tisms,  by  the  overwhelming  diapason  of  public  opinion. 

Henry  would  have  crushed  out  the  last  spark  of  an  expiring 
mortal  body,  he  created  a  living  an''  a  saving  spirit. 

Everything  was  now  accomplish /I  which  this  king  had  de¬ 
sired — far  more,  indeed,  than  he  had  at  the  first  hoped  or  even 
aspired  to  gain,  since  he  originally  sought  only,  by  a  divorce, 
granted  at  the  hands  of  the  pope,  to  rid  himself  of  one  wife, 
and  take  to  himself  a  younger  and  a  fairer  bride;  nor  is  it  in 
the  slightest  degree  probable,  that  he  would,  then  or  thereafter, 
had  he  succeeded  in  his  original  object,  have  conceived  an  idea 
of  limiting  the  pontifical  authority  in  his  dominions,  much  less 
of  converting  to  himself  the  revenues  of  the  church,  or  the  right 
of  the  chief  ruler.  From  opposition,  however,  he  drew  in¬ 
creased  determination  to  resist ;  and  from  the  prosecution  of 
resistance  came  the  necessity  of  agents,  able,  ambitious  and  un¬ 
scrupulous.  Able  enough,  doubtless,  and  more  than  ambitious 
enough,  was  W olsey ;  but,  though  his  conscience  wTas  by  no 
means  of  the  tenderest,  it  was  not  so  completely  seared  against 
all  sense  of  justice,  patriotism  and  religion,  as  to  suit  Henry’s 
purpose.  Therefore,  he  fell ;  partly,  that  he  had  not  fully  sat¬ 
isfied  the  expectations  of  his  master  ;  mo-e,  that  he  had  awa 


ABSOLUTISM  IN  ENGLAND. 


'.08 

kened  the  enmity  of  the  mistress,  who  never,  it  seems,  spared 
any,  whom  she  had  the  desire  and  the  power  to  destroy. 

Cromwell  bid  higher,  in  promises,  for  the  royal  favor,  than 
even  his  predecessor  had  ever  done — to  the  power  of  freely  indul¬ 
ging  his  passions,  at  the  expense  of  morality  and  justice,  he 
added  that  of  gratifying  his  avarice  and  ambition,  at  the  expense 
of  religion ;  and,  I  believe,  though  this  is  less  certain,  in  opposi¬ 
tion  to  the  express  desire  of  a  majority  of  his  people. 

The  ease  with  which  one  point  was  carried,  readily  suggested 
others ;  and  so  rapidly  and  successfully  were  his  advances 
made,  “the  law  providing  safeguards  and  creating  offences  hith¬ 
erto.  unknown,  for  the  preservation  of  the  new  royal  dignities, 
and  the  maintenance  of  the  new  succession,”*  that  at  the  be¬ 
ginning  of  the  year  1534,  he  had  realized  infinitely  more,  than 
the  wildest  wishes  of  the  most  impracticable  despot  could 
have  conceived,  at  the  commencement  of  his  reign,  but  twenty- 
three  short  years  before  ;  and  had,  in  fact,  attached  to  the  crown 
of  England,  the  amplest  social  privileges  of  the  sultan,  and  the 
largest  spiritual  prerogatives  of  the  pope.  lie  had,  moreover, 
diverted  to  himself,  from  the  lawful  owners,  a  boundless  source 
of  wealth  in  the  revenues,  possessions,  and  lands  of  the  church, 
which,  by  the  way,  the  holders  had  never  pretended  to  hold 
save  in  trust  for  the  indigent  and  pauper  population  of  the 
realm,  of  whom,  practically,  in  the  absence  of  poor  laws  or 
any  provision  for  the  proletarian  classes  by  statute,  the  church 
was  the  patron  and  provider,  fulfilling  its  duty,  in  the  main,  as 
well  as  it  has  been  done  before  or  since  that  time. 

Of  this  implied  aud  unwritten  trust,  it  is  needless  to  say,  to 
those  who  have  thus  far  followed  this  history,  tha-t  he  never 
even  pretended  to  take  heed ;  as,  in  truth,  he  never  did  of  any 
thing  human  or  divine,  unless  so  far  as  it  suited  his  present  whim 
*  Lingard,  vi .  207. 


HIS  INNATE  CRUELTY. 


209 


And  it  is  this  which  renders  it  difficult  to  discern  how  far  it 
was  a  sincere  regard  for  the  “  ancient  learning  ”  and  the  Papish 
creed,  and  how  far  the  pressure  of  want,  no  longer  relieved  by 
the  dole  and  charities  of  the  suppressed  monasteries,  that  caused 
the  transient  religious  insurrections  which  followed,  especially 
that  known  as  “  the  rising  of  the  north.” 

Probably  the  latter  cause  had  its  full  share,  at  the  least; 
since  the  rising  consisted  mainly  of  the  lower  classes,  led  by 
the  rural  priesthood  ;  and  though  some  great  names  are  con¬ 
nected  with  it,  was  generally  little  favored  by  the  nobility. 
One  thing  is  evident ;  that  the  king’s  points  were  all  gained, — • 
that  his  innovations  had  been  carried  into  effect  unresisted,  and 
that  none  were  disposed  openly  to  deny,  though  many  might 
secretly  disapprove,  his  spiritual  assumption,  as  supreme  head 
of  the  church. 

But  now  the  bloody  feature  of  his  character  was  to  be  de¬ 
veloped  ;  and  it  was  so,  shortly,  in  a  manner  the  most  re¬ 
volting,  and,  under  circumstances,  which  showed  it  to  be  the 
effect  of  innate  cruelty,  not  of  political  expediency,  much  less 
of  any  state  necessity. 

The  two  most  respectable,  virtuous  and  learned  men  of  En¬ 
gland,  Fisher,  bishop  of  Rochester,  and  Sir  Thomas  More,  the 
chancellor,  had  opposed,  so  far,  that  is  to  say,  as  refusing  to 
countenance,  his  views  in  regard  to  his  divorce,  and  had  thereby 
earned  the  unforgiving  hatred  of  the  beautiful  Anne,  and  drawn 
on  themselves  the  vindictive  spite  and  jealousy  of  the  tyrant. 

Their  innocent  and  holy  blood  was  to  be  the  first  libation  and 
prelude  to  that  multitude  of  human  hecatombs,  which  made 
the  palace  of  the  despot  rather  to  resemble  a  shambles,  or  the 
den  of  some  insatiable  wild  beast,  than  the  residence  of  a  Chris¬ 
tian  king.  An  indictment  was  laid  against  these  men  for  mis- 

14 


210 


TF1E  HOLY  MAID  OF  KENT. 


prision  of  treason,  in  that  they  had  in  some  degree  listened  to 
the  ravings  of  one  Elizabeth  Barton,  known  as  the  “  Holy  Maid 
■f  Kent,”  an  insane,  epileptic  nun,  who  supposed  herself  a 
prophetess,  and,  having  obtained  a  set  of  foolish,  fanatical  ad¬ 
herents,  had  latterly  given  a  political  tone  to  her  predictions. 
Much  excited,  as  it  appears  most  of  the  women  of  England 
were,  by  the  case  of  Katharine,  she  had  strongly  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  late  queen,  and  had  proclaimed,  after  one  of  her 
visions,  that  the  king  should  die  within  a  month  after  his  di¬ 
vorcing  Katharine ;  that  his  daughter,  Mary,  should  succeed 
him,  and — which  portion  of  her  prophecy  was,  by  a  strange  ac¬ 
cident,  fulfilled — that  “dogs  should  lick  his  blood.”  The  king 
had  been  long  acquainted  with  these  pretended  prophecies  ;  he 
had  out  lived  the  term  appointed  for  his  death  ;  and  last,  not 
least,  the  wretched  Barton  and  her  chief  adherents  were  brought 
to  confess  the  whole  matter  to  be  an  imposture,  publicly,  at 
St.  Paul’s  cross.  This  done,  one  would  have  judged,  all  possible 
danger  over,  that  the  insignificance  and  obvious  folly  of  these 
miserable  wretches  might  have  saved  their  lives,  and  that  royal 
vengeance  might  have  slept.  But  no  !  Their  blood  was  needed 
to  justify  the  shedding  nobler  blood  thereafter.  They  were  at¬ 
tainted  for  treason,  without  trial — a  thing  unheard  of  and 
abominable  in  English  law — before  the  parliament ;  and  though 
the  lords  humbly  craved  permission  of  the  king  to  hear  what 
defence  the  accused  might  make,  no  reply  being  vouchsafed  to 
this  most  moderate  request,  were  condemned  unheard,  and 
suffered  at  Tyburn,  all  the  horrors  which,  to  the  disgrace  of 
English  jurisprudence,  remained  so  long  attached  to  the  crime 
of  treason.  For  having  had  one  or  two  interviews  with  this 
mad  woman,  for  having  once  given  her  money,  and,  in  the  case 
of  More,  for  liavk  3  advised  her  to  confine  her  predictions  to 


FISHER  AND  MORE. 


211 


piety,  avoiding  to  intermeddle  with  politics,  the  two  illustrious 
men  first  named,  were  connected  with  the  low-born  and  delu¬ 
ded  crew  who  had  suffered  a  martyrdom  so  cruel,  for  their 
folly.  The  virtue,  the  learning,  the  innocence  of  Fisher,  could 
not  preserve  him  from  attainder.  He  was  condemned  ;  and 
purchased,  for  three  hundred  pounds,  his  temporary  pardon 
from  the  tyrant,  less  avaricious  only,  than  he  was  bloody  and 
relentless. 

The  entreaties  of  all  his  counsellors,  literally  on  their  knees 
before  him,  procured  the  erasure  of  More’s  name  from  the  list 
of  proscription,  as  there  was  not  a  shadow  of  evidence  against 
him,  and  they  felt  the  impossibility  of  so  destroying  him. 

But  Boleyn  thirsted  for  their  blood ;  the  king  could  refuse 
Boleyn  nothing ;  therefore  their  blood  must  flow.  They  were, 
within  a  fortnight  of  Barton’s  execution,  called  upon  to  swear 
to  the  acts  of  successsion  and  supremacy.  Both  consented  to 
swear  to  the  civil  portions  of  both  acts,  admitting  their  valid¬ 
ity  and  the  competence  of  the  civil  power  to  enact  them. 
Both  declined  to  swear  to  every  particular  in  the  acts,  as  some 
of  these  contained  dogmata  of  a  purely  religious  nature,  which 
they  could  not  conscientiously  admit. 

Cranmer  was  in  favor  of  the  acceptance  of  the  oaths,  so  lim¬ 
ited.  Cromwell  stood  out  for  the  whole;  and  Henry,  eager 
for  their  blood,  if  possible,  and  if  not,  anxious  to  compel  them 
to  unconditional  surrender,  suppported  Cromwell.  They  were 
again  cited  to  swear,  and  refusing,  committed  to  the  tower.  In 
the  meantime,  while  farther  proceedings  were  in  preparation 
igainst  these,  religious  persecution  began  to  take  the  place  of 
political-  oppression.  Henry  was  determined  that  his  spiritual 
supremacy  should  not  remain  as  an  empty  title,  but  should  go 
into  fact,  as  a  present  and  active  power ;  and  called  on  his  most 


212 


THE  PERSECUTIONS. 


learned  and  most  loyal  prelates  to  support  him  v  ith  their  tal¬ 
ents  and  their  counsels.  Sampson  and  Stokesly.  two  of  the 
most  celebrated,  assisted,  willingly,  and  from  conviction,  in  the 
work  of  blood.  Tonstal  and  Gardiner,  slavishly  and  cowardly, 
and  in  defiance  of  what  they  believed  to  be  the  right. 

The  people  and  the  clergy  of  the  realm,  for  the  most  part, 
outwardly,  at  least,  and  openly,  conformed  ;  the  three  religious 
orders,  Carthusians,  Brigittins  and  Franciscans  defied  both  ar¬ 
gument  and  intimidation.  Of  these,  no  less  than  fifty  misera¬ 
bly  perished  in  prison ;  the  rest,  at  the  intercession  of  W rioth- 
esly,  the  chancellor,  who  was  with  them  at  heart,  were  banished 
to  France  and  Scotland. 

Shortly  after  this,  the  priors  of  the.  charter  houses  of  Lon¬ 
don,  Axiholm  and  Belleval,  were  brought  to  trial  for  high  trea¬ 
son  ;  and,  though  the  jury  could  not  be  brought  to  find  against 
them,  until  the  minister  himself  had  argued  with  them  and  in¬ 
timidated  them  by  threats  of  being  themselves  similarly  ar¬ 
raigned,  were  convicted,  and,  in  company  with  four  other 
monks  and  a  secular  clergyman,  hanged,  cut  down  while  yet 
living,  embowelled,  dismembered,  and  beheaded. 

During  this  interval,  thus  employed  by  Henry,  his  parlia¬ 
ment  had  found  both  Fisher  and  More  guilty  of  misprision  of 
treason.  The  sentence  was  forfeiture  and  perpetual  imprison¬ 
ment.  These  men — these  innocent,  good  men,  both  of  them, 
but  a  little  while  before,  Henry’s  personal  friends,  associates 
and  intimates, — were  now  reduced,  with  their  families,  to  utter 
destitution,  and  almost  to  starvation.  Fisher,  at  seventy 
years,  lay  in  his  dungeon,  without  clothes  to  cover  his  naked¬ 
ness.  More  would  have  perished  of  starvation,  but  for  the 
support  afforded  him,  by  his  married  daughter,  Maigaret 


DEATH  OF  FISHER  AND  MORE. 


213 


But  even  this  would  not  suffice.  Henry  had  broken  bread, 
and  tasted  the  sacred  salt ;  had  jested  with  More,  and  played 
at  his  hearth  with  the  innocent  children,  whom  he  was  now  re¬ 
solved,  per  fas  aut  nefas ,  to  render  fatherless,  as  well  as  homo¬ 
less.  Fisher  was  the  last  surviving  counsellor  of  Henry  VII., 
and  the  guardian  to  whose  care,  on  her  death-bed,  the  venera¬ 
ble  countess  of  Richmond  had  entrusted  his  inexperience.  In 
his  earlier  and  better  years,  the  king  had  been  wont  to  boast 
that  no  monarch  in  Europe  had  a  counsellor  so  wise,  a  prelate 
so  pious  as  the  Bishop  of  Rochester.  He  affected  to  revere 
him  as  a  father. 

But  both  these  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  They 
had  dared  to  think  for  themselves ;  they  had  withheld  consent 
from  the  king’s  “  secret  matter  ;  ”  they  had  offended  the  king’s 
harlot.  Therefore,  they  must  die. 

But  how  or  wherefore,  when  in  these  just  men  even  their 
false  judges  could  find  no  deadly  sin1?  They  were  harassed,  in 
their  secret  prison-houses,  by  examinations,  interrogatories, 
multiplications  of  questionings.  Even  that  availed  nothing. 
They  were  tempted  into,  what  were  distinctly  stated  to  them 
to  be,  private  conversations ;  and,  these  being  infamously  re¬ 
vealed,  if  not  more  infamously  invented,  by  the  king’s  basest 
spies  and  panderers,  the  vilest  of  whom  was  Rich,  the  solicitor 
general,  were  sentenced  to  the  block  for  high  treason. 

This,  be  it  observed,  not  for  actions  done,  or  opinions 
openly,  much  less  seditiously,  expressed,  but  for  conscientious 
convictions,  only  extorted  from  them  at  all,  in  reply  to  ques¬ 
tions  at  once  insidiously  and  illegally  propounded. 

Fisher  died  first,  dauntless  as  innocent ;  and,  to  increase,  if 
anything  could  increase,  the  atrocity  of  the  deed,  the  decapita¬ 
ted  trunk  was  suffered  to  lie  naked,  where  it  fell,  until  night, 


214 


DEATH  OF  FISHER  AND  MORE. 


when  it  was  removed  by  the  guards,  and  buried  in  All-hallow’s 
church -yard,  in  Barking. 

More  was  led,  on  foot,  from  the  tower  to  Westminster,  to 
receive  his  sentence ;  opeuly  avowed  his  conviction  that  the 
act  of  supremacy  was  unlawful ;  heard  his  doom,  unmoved ; 
and  even  preserved  his  unalterable  firmness,  when,  on  his  way 
back  to  the  tower,  his  beloved  daughter,  Margaret,  twice 
broke  through  the  halberds  of  the  pitying  guards,  and,  in  her 
speechless  anguish,  bathed  him  with  unavailing  tears. 

He  died,  like  Fisher,  dauntless.  The  heads  of  both  were 
displayed  on  London  bridge;  though  it  is  said  that  More’s  was 
rescued  thence  by  the  heroism  of  Margaret,  and,  with  the 
body,  duly  consigned  to  consecrated  earth.  In  England,  men 
were  plunged  into  such  an  apathy  of  dismay,  despair  and  ser¬ 
vitude,  that  the  death  of  these  great,  good  men,  though  it 
smote  every  heart,  as  with  an  individual  calamity,  awoke  no 
responsive  cry  of  abhorrence  or  defiance.  But  their  names  live 
in  every  English  heart,  synonymous  with  all  that  is  best  of  lib¬ 
erty  and  religion. 

In  every  foreign  land,  the  tidings  were  received  by  Lutheran 
and  Catholic  alike,  with  one  unanimous  burst  of  open  execra¬ 
tion.  The  pope,  Paul  III.,  who  had  succeeded  Clement,  at  the 
urgent  exhortation  of  the  conclave,  issued  a  bull  of  excommu¬ 
nication,  interdict,  and  dethronement,  against  the  murderous 
tyrant ;  but,  perceiving  that  the  only  monarchs  capable  of  en¬ 
forcing  it,  Charles  and  Francis,  were  both  eager  only  to  court 
the  friendship,  not  incur  the  enmity,  of  this  puissant  arbiter  of 
Europe,  he  revoked  it  before  publication,  and  reluctantly  con¬ 
signed  it  to  oblivion  in  those  “  lofts  of  piled  thunder,”  which 
were  stored  with  ineffectual  and  unfulminated  bolts  of  Romish 
arrogance  and  anger 


INTERDICT  OF  PAFL  III. 


215 


During  the  remainder  of  this,  and  the  whole  of  the  ensuing 
year,  the  king  strenuously  pressed,  and  thoroughly  carried  out, 
what  has  been  called  the  reformation,  but  what  should  be  called 
the  suppression  of  Papacy  in  England.  By  a  singular  stratagem, 
suggested  by  Leigh  and  Ap  Rice,  two  creatures  of  Cromwell, 
all  the  prelates  in  the  realm  were  entrapped  into  the  admission, 
“  that  they  derived  no  authority  from  Christ,  but  were  merely 
occasional  delegates  of  the  crown.”  *  The  method  of  effect¬ 
ing  this,  was  the  issue  by  Cromwell,  as  vicar-general  of  the 
king — in  w'hich  capacity,  it  is  worthy  of  note,  that  he  took  prece¬ 
dence  of  the  Archbishop  of  Cantebury,  primate  of  England — 
of  an  act  suspending,  on  the  pretext  of  a  general  visitation,  all 
the  powers  of  all  the  dignitaries  of  the  English  church. 

Thereupon,  it  was  held,  if  they  claimed  powers  as  of  divine 
right,  they  would  adduce  proofs.  Otherwise,  the  question 
would  go  in  favor  of  the  king,  by  default. 

Recourse  was  had  to  the  scheme,  with  absolute  success. 
The  prelates  submitted  patiently,  some  ignorant  of  the  trick, 
some  fearful  to  resist,  some  tricksters  themselves  and  in  the 
plot;  and,  after  a  month’s  suspension,  on  humble  petition  to 
the  king,  all  were  severally  restored,  each  by  a  separate  com¬ 
mission,  to  the  exercise  of  their  functions  during  the  royal  pleas¬ 
ure,  and  that,  merely  as  royal  deputies. 

This  feat  of  legerdemain — for  it  deserves  no  other  name — 
accomplished,  a  bill  was  forced  through  both  houses,  not,  how¬ 
ever,  without  violent  opposition — so  violent,  indeed,  that  be¬ 
fore  it  passed,  the  king  had  to  send  for  the  members  of  the 
lower  house,  whom  he  pleasantly  informed,  that  he  “  would 
have  the  bill  pass  or  take  off  some  of  their  heads”  —  sup- 
pressing  all  the  smaller  monasteries,  giving  the  whole  property 


Llngard,  vL,  231. 


210  SUPPRESSION  OF  THE  MONASTERIES. 

real  or  personal,  appertaining  to  them,  to  the  king  and  his 
heirs  forever,  and  vesting  the  possession  of  their  lands  and  ten¬ 
ements  in  those  to  whomsoever  they  should  be  granted  by  let¬ 
ters  patent. 

So  pleasant  and  simple,  in  those  days,  was  the  manner 
adopted  by  the  kings  of  England,  in  dealing  with  their  trusty 
commons  ;  and  so  obedient  were  the  members  of  that  puissant 
body,  now  the  dominant  power  of  the  state,  to  the  monarchs, 
their  veritable  lords  and  masters.  Thus  was  consummated  the 
humiliation  and  spoliation  of  the  church,  to  the  indefinite  aug¬ 
mentation  of  the  power, wealth  and  prerogative  of  the  crown; 
to  the  infinite  enriching  of  the  creatures  of  Cromwell  and  the  king, 
and  of  the  grantees  of  the  suppressed  establishments ;  to  the 
cruel  injury  of  the  ejected  monks  and  nuns,  the  latter  of  whom 
were  thrown  on  the  cold  charity  of  the  world,  with  no  provis¬ 
ion,  other  than  the  mockery  of  a  single  gown,  granted  to  each 
by  the  king;  and  to  the  enduring  loss  of  the  indigent  poor, 
who  w7ere  supported,  in  a  great  measure,  by  the  alms  of  these 
much  abused  institutions. 

Thus,  strange  to  say,  was  accomplished  a  prediction  uttered 
many  years  before,  though  with  no  pretence  of  divine  inspira¬ 
tion,  by  an  archbishop  of  Paris ;  that  whensoever  the  Cardinal 
of  York  should  lose  the  favor  of  Henry,*  the  spoliation  of  the 
church  would  shortly  follow. 

This  same  year,  while  the  process  of  spoliation  was  in  oper¬ 
ation,  died,  in  the  castle  of  Kimbolton,  wrhere  she  had  lived  the 
last  years  of  her  life,  almost  in  durance,  that  most  royal  woman, 
Katharine  of  Arragon.  Nothing  of  persecution,  of  intimidation, 
of  menace,  had  ever  induced  her  to  abandon  her  style  of  queen 
of  England,  or  tempted  her  to  accept  the  asylum,  which  Charles 


Lingaid,  vi.  230. 


DEATH  OF  QUEEN  KATHARINE. 


217 


offered,  and  Henry  dared  not  have  disallowed,  in  Spain  or 
the  Netherlands — not  that  she  valued  the  empty  title,  but  that 
she  would  not  invalidate  her  daughter  Mary’s  claim  to  the  suc¬ 
cession,  which  she  ever  believed  would  come  to  be  hers,  in 
time. 

She  died  on  the  7th  of  January,  1536  ;  and  Henry,  as  I  have 
said,  wept,  when  he  heard  of  her  decease,  and  ordered  his  court 
into  mourning  for  her  loss.  But  his  sympathy  did  not  induce 
him  to  grant  her  last  request, for  an  interview  with  her  child,  from 
whom  he  had  savagely  separated  her;  nor  did  it  deter  him  from 
endeavoving  to  seize  himself  of  the  small  effects  she  had  left 
behind  her  ;  as  he  had  previously  done  by  her  dowry,  her  jew 
els,  and  even  her  wardrobe,  all  of  which,  with  the  exception 
of  what  she  actually  wore,  this  foul  disgrace,  not  of  royalty, 
but  of  manhood,  had  detained,  when  he  drove  her  out  of  her 
apartments  at  Windsor,  to  make  way  for  her  light  rival. 

That  rival  now,  when  all  the  court  wore  mourning,  and  all 
England,  but  the  court,  mourned  indeed,  trapped  herself  in 
yellow  robes,  the  color  which  best  becomes  a  brunette,  and 
professed  herself  “  now  indeed  a  queen.”  But  her  departed 
rival  better  knew  Henry’s  heart,  than  she  ;  if  it  be  true,  as  it 
is  saidf  by  Dr.  ITarpsfield,  that  hearing  one  of  her  ladies 
cursing  Anne,  the  sad  queen  cried,  “  Curse  her  not — curse  her 
not,  but  rather  pray  for  her,  for  even  now  is  the  time  fast 
coming,  when  you  shall  have  reason  to  pity  her  and  lament 
her  case.” 

It  was,  indeed,  fast  coming  ;  for  while  she  was  yet  exulting 
over  her  rival’s  death,  she  found  her  maid  of  honor,  Jane 
Seymour,  who  had  supplanted  her,  as  she  had  supplanted  Kath¬ 
arine,  sitting  on  Hen ry’s  knee.  In  an  agony  of  jealous  rage, 
t  Apud  Miss  Stricklaud,  vol.  iv.  109. 

J 


218 


DECAPITATION  OF  ANNE. 


she  took  to  her  bed,  for  she  was  far  gone  with  child,  in  preraa 
ture  labor  pains,  and  was  delivered  of  a  dead  son-who,  had 
he  lived,  would  probably  have  prolonged,  if  not  secured,  her 
ascendency-only  twenty  days  after  the  decease  of  Katharine. 

That  mis-delivery  decided  her  fate.  On  the  twenty-fifth 
day  of  the  ensuing  April,  a  court  of  commission  was  held  to 
inquire  into  her  conduct ;  it  consisted  of  the  chancellor,  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  her  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  and  her  own 
father  ;  and  these  reported,  that  there  was  proof  sufficient'  to 
convict  her  of  unchastity,  with  Brereton,  Norris,  and  Weston, 
of  the  privy  chamber,  with  Smeaton,  the  king’s  musician,  and 
even  with  her  own  brother,  the  Lord  Rochefort.  Of  the  cir¬ 
cumstances  of  the  case,  and  of  the  evidence,  little  is  known,  and 
that  little  will  be  examined  more  fully,  when  I  come  to  her 
own  sad  story.  Suffice  it  now,  that  Lady  Rochefort,  her  own 
brother’s  wife,  who,  singularly  enough,  had  been  committed  to 
the  tower  for  adherence  to  her  predecessor,  and  was  afterward 
beheaded  for  complicity  in  the  adultery  of  her  third  successor, 
was  the  principal  witness  against  her.  Smeaton,  whose  rank 
in  life  subjected  him,  and  who  was  probably  subjected,  to 
question  on  the  rack,  is  said  to  have  confessed  his  guilt. 
But  he,  with  the  others,  including  herself,  who  all  died  on  the 
scaffold,  died,  not  denying  nor  confessing  anything. 

She  was  decapitated,  meeting  the  death  stroke  fearlessly,  af¬ 
ter  passing  her  last  days,  strangely,  between  tears  and  laughter, 
with  a  two-handed  sword  by  the  hand  of  a  French  execu¬ 
tioner,  imported  from  Calais,  for  the  purpose — the  last,  if  not 
the  only,  woman  who  died  such  a  death  in  England. 

The  strongest  proof,  or  show  of  proof,  against  her,  lies  in 
the  bitter  hatred  which  Henry  evidently  bore  to  her,  personal 
in  its  nature,  and  insatiate  by  her  death,  until  he  had  destroyed 


MARRIAGE  WITH  JANE  SEYMOUR. 


219 


her  memory  also.  Either  to  slay,  or  to  divorce  her,  would 
have  sufficed,  to  enable  him  to  marry  the  Seymour  had  that 
been  his  only  object ;  but  he  must  needs  do  both,  and,  more¬ 
over,  bastardize  her  innocent  child,  Elizabeth,  whom,  notwith¬ 
standing,  he  admitted  to  be  his  own  daughter,  and  brand  her 
memory  with  the  stain,  not  of  adultery  only,  but  of  the  almost 
inconceivable  crime  of  incest. 

lie  sat  on  horseback,  under  an  oak,  in  Greenwich  park,  un¬ 
til  the  tower-gun  announced  that  the  lovely  head  had  rolled  in 
the  dust ;  and  then  uncoupled  the  hounds,  and  away  on  the 
wings  of  the  morning  !  to  wed  Jane  Seymour,  on  the  succeed¬ 
ing  day,  at  Wolf’s  Hall,  in  Wiltshire,  and  to  feast,  with  her, 
on  a  bridal  banquet  literally  furnished  forth,  while  her  prede¬ 
cessor’s  life  hung  on  the  falchion’s  edge. 

Cranmer  must  next  be  called  upon — Cranmer,  who  had  pro¬ 
nounced  the  marriage  with  Katharine  null  and  void,  and  de¬ 
clared  that  of  Anne  lawful  and  of  good  effect  from  the  begin¬ 
ning,  by  virtue  of  his  own  authority — only  he  was  the  man 
who  should  reverse  his  own  declaration,  and  falsify  his  own 
record.  lie  did  so  ;  and  that  second  marriage  was,  likewise, 
pronounced  null  and  of  no  effect  from  the  beginning,  though 
on  what  grounds  is  nowhere  stated.  The  issue  of  Anne  was 
also,  of  course,  declared  incapable  to  succeed,  and  an  act  of 
parliament  was  procured  securing  the  succession,  after  the  re¬ 
peal  of  its  last  preceding  act  of  entail,  to  the  heirs  of  the  body 
of  Jane  Seymour.  To  this  act  was  appended  a  clause,  in  utter 
defiance  of  the  laws  and  constitution  of  the  kingdom,  giving  to 
Henry  the  power  “  to  limit  the  crown  in  possession  and  re¬ 
mainder  by  letters  patent  under  the  great  seal,  or  by  his  last 
will,  signed  with  his  own  hand,”*  to  any  person  or  persons 


*  Lingard,  vL  252. 


220 


INSURRECTION  IN  THE  NORTH. 


of  his  own  choosing.  The  object  of  this  enactment  was  to  en» 
We  him,  and  so  it  was  understood,  in  default  of  heirs  male  le¬ 
gitimate,  to  bequeath  the  crown  to  his  favorite,  the  Duke  of 
Richmond,  his  natural  son,  by  Elizabeth  Taillebois.  He,  how¬ 
ever,  died  this  very  summer ;  and  the  willful  and  arrogant  ty¬ 
rant  was  left,  without  heir  male  or  female,  legitimate  or  ille¬ 
gitimate,  to  succeed  him. 

Shortly  after  the  present  marriage,  he  partially  relented 
toward  Mary,  whom,  on  account  of  what  he  called  her  disobe¬ 
dience  in  upholding  the  marriage  of  her  own  mother,  he  had 
kept  hitherto  in  penury  and  disgrace ;  and,  on  her  confessing 
him  to  be  the  supreme  head  of  the  church,  and  admitting  the 
marriage  of  her  mother  incestuous  and  unlawful,  restored  her 
partially  to  his  favor,  and  granted  to  her  an  establishment,  in 
some  degree  befitted  to  her  birth,  though  still  denying  her  le¬ 
gitimacy.  In  this  autumn,  broke  out  a  dreadful  insurrection, 
originating  with  the  starving  monks  and  famished  populace  of 
the  north,  but  secretly  patronized  and  fomented  by  the  north¬ 
ern  nobility  of  the  old  religion.  To  such  a  height  did  this  re¬ 
bellion  rise,  and  so  formidable  had  it  become,  involving  the 
whole  north  of  England,  from  the  frontiers  of  Scotland  to  Don¬ 
caster,  that  Shrewsbury  and  Norfolk,  the  king’s  lieutenants, 
found  it  expedient  to  treat  rather  than  to  fight ;  and,  on  the 
promise  of  a  free  pardon  to  all,  and  the  speedy  assembling  of 
the  parliament  at  York,  for  the  redress  of  all  grievances,  the 
insurgents  laid  down  their  arms.  Henry,  of  course,  so  soon 
as  the  peril  had  passed  over,  neglected  his  stipulated  word, 
and  the  rebels  again  rose  in  force;  but  Norfolk  was  now  at 
the  head  of  a  sufficient  army,  and  defeated  them  in  detail. 
Their  chief  leaders,  Lord  d’Arcy,  and  Robert  Ashe,  with  some 
others,  were  executed  in  London  ;  the  subordinates  were 


REGINALD  POLE. 


221 


hanged  by  scores  and  hundreds,  at  York  and  Carlisle,  and 
when  “  rebellion’s  head  was  cold,”  and  the  last  spark  of  resist¬ 
ance  quenched  in  blood,  that,  which  was  whimsically  styled  the 
king’s  mercy,  spared  the  wretched  remainder,  and  granted  a 
general  pardon. 

The  suppression  of  an  insurrection  ever  strengthens  the 
hands  of  any  government,  and  supplies  a  tyrannical  govern 
ment  with  means  of  fresh  tyranny.  Nor  did  this  general 
truth  now  fail  of  application.  After  the  insurrection  of  the 
north,  all  the  great  northern  abbeys, — Furness,  Whalley,  Bot- 
ton,  Lanercost,  Jovraulx,  Fountains,  and  the  rest, — shared  the 
fate  of  the  smaller  monasteries;  all  were,  in  turn,  suppressed, 
wrested  from  the  lawful  possessors,  and  transferred  to  the 
grantees  of  the  crown. 

This  done,  Henry  converted  the  last  relics  of  his  fury 
against  Reginald  Pole,  to  whom,  as  has  been  before  shown,  he 
had  formerly  displayed  a  fitful  and  short-lived  generosity. 
This  young  nobleman,  who  had  borne  himself,  in  his  volun¬ 
tary  exile,  with  singular  moderation,  had  been  actually  com¬ 
pelled,  by  Henry’s  agency,  to  give  his  opinion  in  writing,  on 
the  assumption  of  supremacy  and  the  divorce  of  Katharine. 
As  long  as  possible  he  avoided  the  unwelcome  task  ;  but,  at 
last,  after  Anne’s  execution,  he  delivered  his  opinion,  utterly 
condemnatory  of  the  whole  course  of  his  royal  kinsman’s  con¬ 
duct,  in  a  long,  rhetorical,  elocutionary  treatise,  which  he  sent 
by  private  hand  to  the  king.  Henry,  for  once,  concealed  his 
fury,  and  dissembled,  but  dissembled  only,  in  the  hope  of  get¬ 
ting  his  now  hated  enemy — for  such  he  henceforth  styled  him — 
into  his  power.  Reginald  was,  however,  too  wise  and  wary 
to  accept  Henry’s  invitation  to  visit  him,  when  they  could  dis¬ 
cuss  the  matter  together  at  leisure  ;  for  he  well  knew  that  to 


222 


henry’s  purposes  frustrated. 


1/ 


tread  on  English  soil  was  to  follow  his  friends,  Fisher  and 
More,  un  avail  ingly,  to  the  block.  Shortly  after  this,  he  was 
created  cardinal,  and  appointed  legate  beyond  the  Alps,  for  the 
purpose  of  effecting  a  reconciliation  between  Francis  and  the 
emperor,  and  uniting  their  arms  against  the  Turk.  Of  this 
mission  and  its  purpose,  he  honestly  and  truthfully  informed 
Henry  ;  and,  farther,  did  him  good  service  in  procuring  the 
continued  suppression  of  the  bull  of  interdict,  which,  but  for 
his  intercession,  would  have  been  promulgated,  during  the 
height  of  the  northern  insurrection,  which  Paul  and  his  advi¬ 
sers  regarded  as  a  favorable  opportunity.  Cromwell  was, 
however,  his  personal  enemy  ;  and,  if  Henry’s  rage  had  not 
been,  in  itself,  too  blind  and  brutal  to  discriminate,  would  have 
secured  his  ear  against  him.  That  was  not  needed ;  so  soon 
as  he  arrived  at  Cambray,  Henry  demanded  him  of  the  king 
of  France ;  set  a  price  of  fifty  thousand  crowns  on  his  head, 
and  offered  Charles  an  auxiliary  force  against  Francis  in  ex¬ 
change  for  his  person. 

Frustrated  in  his  purpose,  by  the  cardinal’s  recall  to  Rome, 
he  declared  him  a  public  enemy,  and  resolved  on  the  total  de¬ 
struction  of  all  his  English  kindred,  who,  unhappily  for  them, 
were  within  his  reach ;  from  which  fell  purpose  he  was  not 
diverted,  although  he  was  compelled  to  defer  it,  by  the  events 
of  the  autumn,  which  one  knows  not,  in  reference  to  Henry, 
whether  to  style  calamity  or  good  fortune,  and  which  made 
him,  once  more  a  father— this  time  of  an  heir  male — and  again 
a  widower. 

On  Friday,  October  12th,  1537,  Jane  Seymour,  of  whom 
Lingard  most  justly  observes,  that,  with  no  evidence  of  any 
positive  merit,  Dr  virtue,  of  her  own,  she  has  fared  better  with 


BIRTH  OF  PRINCE  EDWARD. 


223 


historians,  than  any  other  of  Henry’s  queens,  was  delivered 
-if  a  prince,  afteiward  Prince  of  Wales,  and  King  Edward  VI. 

The  immunity  from  censure  which  this  princess  enjoyed, 
possessing  no  kind  of  real  merit,  that  one  can  discover,  beyond 
grace,  beauty,  and  a  certain  inoffensiveness,  which  was,  after 
all  is  said,  merely  passive,  he  ascribes,  justly,  to  the  fact,  that, 
whereas  to  each  one  of  the  other  five  queens,  either  the  Ro¬ 
mish  or  the  Protestant  writers  have  been  hostile  on  polemical 
grounds,  both  have  upheld  the  character  of  Jane.  The  former 
because  she  wras  uniformly  kind  and  gracious  to  Mary,  the 
child  of  Katharine,  and  afterward  the  Papistical  queen  —  the 
latter,  because  she  was  the  mother  of  the  ultra  Lutheran  king, 
Edward  VI. 

He,  conclusively,  shows  that  her  alleged  uniform  kindness 
to  Mary,  might  well  arise  from  mere  opposition  to  Anne  Bo- 
leyn,  who  had  been  peculiarly  and  uniformly  unkind  to  her ; 
while  Miss  Strickland,  no  less  conclusively,  shows  that  she  was 
not  “  the  fairest  ” — for  the  two  unfortunates,  Boleyn  and  How¬ 
ard,  were  both  fairer,  as  their  extant  portraits  prove  —  nor 
“  the  discreetest” — for  how  can  she  be  called  discreet,  who  is 
found  by  a  wife  sitting  on  her  husband’s  knee?  —  nor  in  any 
respect,  at  all,  “  the  most  meritorious  of  all  Henry  VIIl.’s 
wives”  —  as  some  pompous  historiographer  has  absurdly 
styled  her. 

On  the  12th  of  October,  she  was  delivered,  after  a  labor 
so  dangerous,  that  the  physicians,  apprehensive  that  to  save 
both  lives  would  be  impossible,  left  it  to  the  option  of  the 
“  uxorious”  king,  as  he  has  been  called,  who  showed  his  uxori¬ 
ousness,  on  this  occasion,  by  ordering  the  wife  and  mother  to 
be  sacrificed,  if  need  should  be,  with  the  pleasant  and  manly, 
not  to  say  gentlemanly,  observation,  that  he  could  have  as 


224 


DEATH  OF  QUEEN  JANE. 


many  wives  as  he  pleased,  but  as  many  sons,  only,  as  it  hap 
pened.  That  she  lived  at  all,  was  no  thanks  to  her  brutal  lord  ; 
that  she  died,  a  few  days  afterward,  was  owing,  wholly,  to  his 
reckless  and  boisterous  exultation,  at  the  birth  of  a  boy  ;  and 

/to  the  din  and  roar  of  the  christening  carousals,  with  which  he 
deafened  her  sick  chamber,  and  literally  drummed  her  into 
the  grave. 

That  he  affected  to  hold  her  first  and  dearest  of  his  wives, 
was,  first,  that  she  died  before  he  grew  aweary  of  her ;  sec¬ 
ond,  that  she  was  the  sultana-mother  of  his  harem  of  queens, 
who  alone  bore  him  a  surviving  son. 


How  much  he  truly  loved  her,  one  may  judge,  knowing 
that,  before  she  had  been  cold  in  her  grave,  a  single  month, 
he  was  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  win  the  hand  of  the  beau¬ 
tiful  Marie  de  Longueville,  precontracted  to  his  own  nephew, 
James  of  Scotland.  A  rare  commentary,  by  the  way,  on  his 
sanctimonious  horror  of  the  iniquity  of  marriages  with  pre¬ 
contracted  women  !  But  why  look  for  consistency  in  one 
whose  only  constancy  was  wickedness,  whose  only  consistency, 
crime  ? 

It  appears,  that  when,  immediately  on  Jane  Seymour’s  death, 
this  truly  “  marvellous  man”  expressed  his  desire  for  a  French 
wife,  a  step  which,  of  course,  Francis  was  bound,  by  his  own 
interest,  to  promote,  that  prince  made  him  some  general  an¬ 
swer,  to  the  effect  that  there  was  no  unmarried  dame,  or  dam¬ 
sel,  in  his  kingdom,  whose  hand  he  might  not  obtain,  at  his 
pleasure ;  and  when  Ilenry,  after  vainly  persecuting  Marie  de 
Longueville,  for  five  months,  to  force  her  to  accept  him,  was 
compelled  to  resign  all  hopes  of  possessing  her,  on  her  sailing 
to  Scotland  for  the  purpose  of  marrying  his  nephew,  he  actu 
ally  took  his  brother  monarch  at  his  word  ;  and  required  him 


HENRY  SEEKING  ANOTHER  WIFE.  22ft 

not  as  a  jest,  but  in  all  sober  seriousness,  to  produce  the  hand¬ 
somest  ladies  in  France,  at  Calais,  for  his  inspection.  The 
Duchess  of  Vendome  he  might  have  had;  but,  offended  by 
the  refusal  of  the  beautiful  Longueville,  he  refused  the  other 
lady,  in  order  to  strike  a  balance,  as  one  would  say  in  mercan¬ 
tile  phrase,  since  James  had  rejected  her,  in  like  manner  as 
James’s  lady-love  had  denied  himself  her  favor.  Marie’s' two 
sisters,  he  would  neither  of  them  ;  because  Francis  declined 
the  proposal  to  show  them  for  selection  ;  observing,  as  such  a 
gay  gallant  as  he  well  might  do,  that  it  was  not  the  mode  of 
France,  to  do  with  fair  ladies,  as  horse-coursers  do  with  their 
palfreys — trot  them  out,  that  he,,  who  wants  one,  may  choose 
the  easiest-goer. 

The  truth  is — strange  as  it  may  appear,  that  anything  should 
be  exaggerated  concerning  Henry,  unless  it  were  the  report  of 
his  early  virtues J — that  an  exaggerated  rumor  prevailed,  on 
the  continent,  in  regard  to  the  death  of  his  first  three  wives, 
which  rendered  the  princesses  of  France  averse  to  trying  their 
fortunes,  as  his  fourth.  Katharine,  it  was  said,  had  died  of 
poison — a  saying,  for  which  there  was  no  possible  foundation, 
as  she  had  been  for  many  years  a  valetudinarian,  and  died  after 
a  lingering  illness.  The  sharp  and  sudden  cure  of  Anne’s 
earthly  sorrows  was  known  to  all ;  as  was  the  cause  of  Jane 
Seymour’s  untimely  departure ;  which  might  undoubtedly 
have  been  prevented,  by  the  common  care  and  quietude  ac¬ 
corded,  in  such  cases,  to  all  women  of  humbler  station,  though 
not,  always,  to  those  in  more  exalted  places.  It  is  not  won¬ 
derful,  however,  that  such  a  rumor  should  prevail ;  though 
many  persons,  doubtless,  will  esteem  it  even  more  than 
wonderful,  that,  after  his  antecedents,  he  should  have  found  any 
lady,  without  the  pale  of  his  own  dominions — where  to  ha^e 
J.*  15 


226 


AMUSEMENTS  OF  WIDOWHOOD. 


refused  his  hand,  would,  in  all  probability,  have  cost  her  head— 
who  would  accept  his  crown,  burthened  with  the  weight  of  his 
now  bloated,  unwieldy  and  diseased  person,  of  his  brutal  love, 
and  the  risk  of  his  barbarous  displeasure. 

It  was,  indeed,  above  two  years  before  he  could  find  any 
one  who  would  accept  it ;  and  when  he  did  find  one,  it  was  po¬ 
litical  motives,  alone,  which  brought  about  the  sacrifice  of  the 
hand  of  the  unhappy  lady,  whom  he  wedded,  only  to  repudi¬ 
ate,  almost  before  the  honeymoon  was  ended. 

The  interval  between  the  loss  of  his  third,  and  the  wedding 
of  his  fourth  bride,  he  spent  for  once  consistently ;  in  coquet¬ 
ting  with  the  pope,  whom  his  execution  of  Anne,  his  roasting 
of  heretics,  his  dabbling  in  theology,  with  an  evident  leaning 
to  the  doctrines  of  Rome,  induced  to  hope  that  he  might  be 
reclaimed  into  the  bosom  of  the  church  ;  and  at  the  same  time, 
with  the  reformed  states  and  princes  of  Germany,  who  fancied 
that  he  might  be  brought  to  join  their  communion,  in  conse¬ 
quence  of  their  mutual  antagonism  to  the  pontiff  and  see  of 
St.  Peters.  He  promulgated  articles  of  faith,  denying  the  pos¬ 
sibility  of  salvation,  except  by  adherence  to  the  creed  of  the 
Romish  church,  the  head  of  which  alone  he  repudiated ;  main¬ 
taining  the  seven  sacraments,  the  Apostles’,  the  Athanasian,  and 
the  Nicene  creeds ;  enforcing  the  compulsory  celibacy  of  the 
clergy,  much  to  the  grief  of  Cranmer,  who  was  obliged,  in  or¬ 
der  to  save  his  body  from  the  stake,  to  repudiate  his  wife,  and 
send  his  children  into  Germany  ;  forbidding  the  cup  of  the 
eucharist  to  the  laity;  and  sustaining  private  masses  and  auric¬ 
ular  confession.  He  butchered  Protestant  heretics  and  adhe¬ 
rents  to  the  pope,  with  perfect  impartiality  ;  he  presided  at 
the  examination  of  accused  heretics,  argued  with  them,  con¬ 
demned  them,  assisted  at  their  autos  da  fe,  to  the  admiration 


THOMAS  A  BECKET  IN  COURT. 


227 


of  Cromwell ,*  and  the  disgust  and  abhorrence  of  the  whole 
Christian  world  beside.  He  reformed  abases  in  religion,  abol 
ished  useless  holidays,  destroyed  miraculous  shrines  and  holy 
wells,  prohibited  pilgrimages  and  processions,  pulled  down 
oracular  chapels,  burnt  juggling  relics,  and  finally,  to  put  the 
climax  on  high-flown  absurdity,  and  stamp  himself  almost  a 
fool  and  madman,  cited  the  Archbishop  Thomas  a  Becket,  who 
had  been  dead  since  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  nearly  three  cen¬ 
turies  before,  to  appear  in  court  at  Westminster,  and  show 
cause  why  he  should  not  be  found  guilty  of  rebellion,  against 
his  sovereign  lord,  the  king.  At  the  end  of  thirty  days,  the 
period  allowed  by  canon  law,  the  saint  not  appearing,  in  per¬ 
son  or  by  attorney,  was  found  guilty  of  “  contumacy,  rebellion, 
and  treason ;  ”  his  bones'  were  ordered  to  be  burned,  “  to  ad¬ 
monish  the  living  of  their  duty  by  the  punishment  of  the 
dead ;  ”  and  all  his  personal  property  was  forfeited  to  the 
crown.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  his  shrine  was  immensely 
rich  in  gold  and  jewelry,  two  huge  coffers  full  of  which  were 
conveyed  to  the  royal  treasury. 

One  might  doubt,  whether  he  were  reading  history,  or  the 
wildest  and  most  imaginative,  satirical  romance,  but  that 
Henry’s  original  proclamation  of  November  16,  1538,  begin¬ 
ning  with  the  words,  “  Whereas,  Thomas  a  Becket,  sometime 
archbishop  of  Canterbury,”  j-  &c.,  &c.,  is  still  extant,  as  well  as 
the  bull  of  Pope  Paul  III.,  of  December  17,  of  the  same  year, 
relating  the  whole  affair  at  length. 

Farther  than  this,  he  completed  the  suppression  of  all  the 
remaining  monasteries  and  religious  houses,  confiscating  their 

•See  Cromwell's letter  to  Wyatt,  ambassador  In  Germany.  Collier,  1.  152,  spud 
Lingard,  vi.  283. 

+  See  the  originals  in  note  to  page  27G,  vol.  vi.  Lingard's  Hist.  Eng. 


228 


TIIK  FAMILY  OF  REGINALD  POLE. 


property  and  bestowing  their  lands  and  tenements  on  his 
friends  ar.d  courtiers;  and,  finally,  compelled  parliament  to 
grant  him  subsidies  of  two-tenths,  and  two-fifteenths,  within 
twelve  months,  to  remunerate  him  for  the  trouble  he  had  been 
at,  in  effecting  these  reforms,  and  the  expenees,  he  had  been 
put  to,  in  confiscating  and  converting,  to  his  own  use,  lands, 
dwellings,  tenements,  personals,  treasures,  rents,  and  revenues, 
to  an  amount  now  wholly  incalculable,  but  supposed  by  some 
writers  to  have  equalled  one-twentieth  part  of  all  the  values 
then  vested  in  England,  though  this  is  probably  an  excessive 
valuation. 

Nor  was  this  singular  being,  singular  mixture  of  cruelty 
and  puerility,  sense  and  folly,  strength  and  weakness,  content 
with  burning  obscure  priests  and  wretched  booksellers,  who 
dared  to  publish  unauthorized  translations  of  the  holy  writ ;  nor 
even,  with  the  torturing  to  death,  in  a  manner  too  horrible  to 
bear  relation,  of  the  venerable  Doctor  Abell,  and  the  aged  Friar 
Forrest,  confessor  of  the  late  Queen  Katharine,  the  latter  because 
he  would  not  disclose  the  secrets  of  his  royal  penitent’s  confes¬ 
sional,  but  he  must  needs  imbrue  his  hands,  to  the  shoulders, 
in  the  noblest  blood  of  England,  the  closest  akin  to  himself, 
the  most  intimately  connected  with  all  the  greatest  deeds,  the 
grandest  memories  of  the  empire. 

To  avenge  himself  on  Reginald  Pole,  whom  he  despaired 
of  bringing  himself  within  reach  of  his  vengeance,  he  caused  to 
be  arrested,  in  one  day,  Henry  Courtenay,  marquess  of  Exe¬ 
ter,  and  the  marchioness,  his  wife ;  Lord  Montague,  and  Geof¬ 
frey  Pole,  brothers  of  the  cardinal ;  their  mother,  the  aged 
Countess  of  Salisbury,  the  last  of  the  high  blood  of  the  old 
Plantagenets ;  Sir  Edward  Neville,  the  brother  of  Lord  Ab¬ 
ergavenny;  Sir  Nicholas  Carew,  master  of  the  horse;  and 


ANNE  OF  CLEVES. 


229 


two  Cornish  gentlemen,  named  Kendall,  and  Quintrell ;  all 
of  whom  were  accused  of  high  treason  on  the  most  frivolous 
pretences,  not  one  of  them  for  overt  acts,  but  only  for  words 
spoken,  the  most  trivial  and  inoffensive,  that  can  be  imagined. 

Of  these,  Geoffrey  Pole  escaped,  it  is  supposed,  by  bearing 
evidence  against  his  comrades.  The  .aged  Countess  of  Salis¬ 
bury  was  retained  in  the  tower,  with  her  grandson,  and  Ger¬ 
trude,  marchioness  of  Exeter,  against  none  of  whom  was  there 
any  shadow  of  such  evidence,  as  even  Henry  dared  produce, 
before  such  courts  as  he  employed  ;  who  seem  to  have  re¬ 
garded  it  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  in  respect  of  the  king’s 
honor,  to  sentence  to  death  all  whom  he  chose  to  send  up  for 
trial.  The  rest  suffered  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law,  and 
died  by  decapitation  ;  except  the  two  commoners,  who  under¬ 
went  all  the  atrocious  horrors  of  the  sentence. 

Still,  Henry’s  fiendish  heart  could  not  be  satiated,  until  ho 
had  wounded  the  cardinal  in  the  tenderest  point,  by  the  slaughter 
of  his  revered  mother,  the  Countess  of  Salisbury ;  whom  he 
detained  in  the  tower,  perhaps  in  some  sort  as  a  hostage,  but 
unquestionably  resolute  to  destroy  her,  so  soon  as  a  fitting  op¬ 
portunity  should  occur. 

After  this  interval  of  widowhood,  unable  longer  to  endure 
the  state  of  celibacy,  he  determined  to  listen  to  the  suggestion 
of  Cromwell,  who,  alarmed  at  the  growing  intimacy  of  alliance 
between  Charles  and  the  French  king,  advised  him  to  form  a 
counterpoise  to  the  strength  of  this  confederacy,  by  allying 
himself  to  the  German  princes  of  the  Smalcaldic,  Lutherar 
league.  Anne,  the  sister  of  the  reigning  Duke  of  Cleves,  was 
the  lady  selected  for  this  doubtful  honor,  and  envoys  being 
sent  to  inspect  her,  and  reporting  of  her  favorably,  as  a  large, 
tall  personage,  of  comely  stature,  and  queenly  deportment, 


230 


HENRY  DISAPPOINTED. 


bringing  with  them,  moreover,  a  portrait  of  the  princess,  by 
Holbein,  which  represented  her  as  very  handsome,  the  royal 
voluptuary  expressed  himself  satisfied ;  the  match  was  con¬ 
tracted  ;  and  the  lady  elect  was  escorted  in  great  pomp,  by 
her  own  kinsmen,  to  Calais,  where  she  was  met  by  Lord 
Southampton,  the  lord  high  admiral  of  England,  and  a  splen¬ 
did  train  of  gentlemen  and  nobles. 

On  New  Year’s  eve,  the  king,  who  was  impatient,  as  a  child 
for  a  new  toy,  to  catch  a  glance  of  his  young  and  much  lauded 
bride,  rode  on  to  Rochester,  where  he  met  her,  with  the  intent 
to  look  on  her,  that  he  might,  as  he  termed  it,  “  nourish  love.” 
Awful  was  his  disappointment,  fearful  his  fury,  when  he  saw 
her,  large,  indeed,  and  well  shaped  in  person,  but  coarse-com- 
plexioned,  with  irregular  features,  and  deeply  pitted  with  the 
small  pox.  She  had  no  accomplishments,  moreover,  no  graces 
of  air,  no  skill  in  dance  or  song,  she  could  not  even  converse 
with  him,  in  his  native  tongue.  To  a  man  like  him,  above  all 
tilings,  a  connoisseur  in  beauty ;  an  admirer  of  all  kinds  of  art 
and  grace;  himself  a  musician,  a  composer,  a  poet,  with  an 
ear  exquisitely  attuned  to  all  sweet  sounds ;  a  lover,  who  had 
possessed  the  stately  dignity  of  the  majestic  and  right-royal 
Katharine,  the  voluptuous  loveliness  and  perfect  gracefulness 
of  the  admirably  accomplished  Anne,  the  gentle  charms  of  the 
soft  and  placid  Seymour ;  above  all,  to  a  fierce,  coarse  sensu¬ 
alist,  who  regarded  woman  as  the  merest  Circassian  Odalisque, 
the  rage  of  frenzied  disgust,  which  poor  Anne  of  Cleves,  with 
her  high  German  accent,  her  coarse,  scarred  features,  and  her 
gorgeous,  yet  ungraceful,  attire  and  attendance,  must  have 
produced,  can  be  imagined  more  easily  than  described.  He 
swore,  in  his  blunt,  brutal  humor,  that  she  was  no  better  than 
“  a  great  Flanders  brood  mare,”  and  that  he  would  none  of 


BOTH  GLAD  TO  PART. 


231 


her;  and  charged  Cromwell,  as  he  had  devised,  to  find,  as  he 
he  regarded  his  head,  some  method  of  dissolving  this  odious 
contract. 

When  no  mode  of  evasion  could  be  discovered,  and  when 
he  perceived,  as  he  said,  that  “  there  was  no  remedy,  but  he 
must  needs  against  his  will  put  his  head  into  that  noose,”  he 
reluctantly  consented  to  celebrate  his  nuptials,  which  were  per¬ 
formed  with  unwonted  splendor,  at  Greenwich,  on.  J  ami  ary  6th, 


being  the  Epiphany,  or  feast  of  kings ;  but,  from  that  day  '* 
forth,  the  fill  of  Cromwell  was  dated.  After  the  consumma¬ 
tion  of  his  marriage,  Henry,  with  his  wonted  brutality,  en¬ 
deavored  to  depreciate  her  character,  as  he  did  hen  person, 
speaking  of  the  one,  as  if  she  had  not  come  a  pure  maiden  to 
his  bed  ;  and  of  the  other,  as  no  man,  possessing  even  a  shadow 
of  the  feelings  or  delicacy  of  a  man,  would  speak  of  the  lowest 
and  most  downfallen  of  the  sex. 

During  the  brief  time  that  he  cohabited  with  her,  he  made 
pomp,  and  solemn  pageants  and  processions,  afford  an  excuse 
for  eschewing  her  privacy ;  yet  so  rude  and  brutal  was  his 
conduct,  that  when  Wriothesley,  the  meanest,  basest,  and  most 
sordid  of  Henry’s  low-born  parasites,  rudely  broke  to  her  the 
king’s  desire  to  annul  the  marriage,  although  she  fainted  on 
the  first  shock,  partly  at  the  insulting  style,  in  which  the  foul 
pandar  conveyed  his  message,  partly  from  apprehension  that 
she  was  destined  to  share  the  fate  of  Anne  Boleyn,  she  instantly 
consented  to  join  with  him,  in  procuring  a  divorce,  and  as¬ 
sented  with  alacrity  to  resign  the  title  of  queen,  for  that  of  the 
king’s  adopted  sister,  with  a  pension  of  three  thousand  pounds 
a  year,  and  precedence  over  all  ladies  of  his  court,  except  his 
children,  and  his  future  consort.  Probably,  she  was,  to  the 
full,  as  much  rejoiced,  as  he,  to  be  liberated  from  the  bonds  of 


232 


CROMWELL  ATTAINTED. 


a  wedlock,  in  which  affection  or  liking  never  lad  a  share,  and 
which  to  joylessness  and  disgust  must  have  combined  no  small 
share  of  awe  and  apprehension. 

But  I  must  not  anticipate ;  for,  before  the  divorce  was  car> 
ried  out  by  act  of  parliament,  and  by  means  of  a  convocation 
of  the  clergy,  principally  on  the  untenable  pretext  of  a  pre¬ 
contract  with  the  Prince  of  LorraineaCromwelN  was  himself 
arrested,  on  charge  of  high  treason,  aiicP condemned  without 
trial  by  his  peers,  exhibition  of  evidence,  or  confession,  by  an 
act  of  attainder,  passed,  almost  unanimously,  by  both  houses 
of  parliament,  Cranmer  alone  for  a  while  feebly  interposing  in 
his  behalf,  but  finally  surrendering  him  to  his  late.  The 
charges  against  him  were  groundless  and  futile  ;  the  measure 
by  which  he  was  sentenced,  without  trial,  by  attainder,  most 
iniquitous  ;  yet  cannot  any  one  compassionate  him  ;  nor  could 
he  with  right  complain,  if  he  were  compelled  to  drink  of  the 
cup,  he  had  himself  brewed,  first,  for  others.  He  was  the 
original  inventor,  who  suggested  this  diabolical  mode  of  crim¬ 
inal  procedure,  and,  like  Perillus,  the  creator  of  the  far-famed 
brazen  bull,  he  was  the  first  to  perish  by  his  own  invention. 
For,  although  many  had  been  executed  already,  by  process  of 
attainder,  the  act  had  been,  in  all  prior  instances,  founded  on 
alleged  confession  of  the  accused  ;  and,  although  the  Countess 
of  Salisbury  now  lay  under  sentence,  awaiting  death  in  the 
tower,  under  the  same  atrocious  procedure,  she  was  not  brought 
to  the  scaffold  until  the  ensuing  year. 

On  the  2Sth  of  July,  1540,  he  died  by  the  axe,  under  the 
operation  of  the  bill  he  had  himself  suggested ;  one  other  in¬ 
stance  of  “  the  engineer  hoist  by  his  own  petard.”  Not  a  tear 
was  shed  over  his  headless  trunk.  The  great  lords  openly  exult¬ 
ed,  that  the  low-born  tradesman,  who  had  risen  by  cunning,  base- 


RELIGIOUS  TERRORISM. 


233 


ness,  servility,  and  performance  of  all  mean  and  ignoble  offices, 
had  fallen  headlong  from  the  highest  seat,  which  he  had  so  un¬ 
worthily  attained,  in  the  aouse  of  lords.  The  clergy  tri¬ 
umphed  over  his  downfall,  as  over  the  bitter  enemy,  who  had, 
in  his  day  of  power,  so  cruelly  triumphed  over  mother  church. 
The  lovers  of  liberty  and  justice  rejoiced  in  secret  that  the 
manes  of  More  and  Fisher  were  at  length  appeased.  The  na¬ 
tion,  at  large,  looked  on  his  death  as  the  just  reward  of  the 
onerous  taxation  imposed  on  the  realm,  when  the  royal  treas 
ury  was  filled,  or  at  least  ought,  of  right,  to  have  been  filled, 
with  the  overflowing  spoils  of  the  plundered  monasteries. 

His  judicial  murder  was  followed  by  a  new  form  of  religious 
terrorism.  By  the  same  parliament,  which  had  attainted  him, 
three  Papists  had  been  condemned  to  death  for  denying  the 
supremacy,  and  three  Protestants  for  holding  heterodox  opin¬ 
ions.  Two  and  two,  Protestant  and  Papist,  the  day  after 
Cromwell’s  death,  they  were  drawn  on  the  same  hurdles  to 
Smithfield,  from  the  tower,  where  they  expiated,  the  former 
their  heresy  in  the  flames,  the  latter  their  treason  by  the  dis¬ 
embowelling  knife  of  the  civil  executioner. 

So  impartially  equal  was  the  justice  of  this  great,  reforming 
monarch  to  both  classes  of  his  suffering  subjects. 

After  his  divorce  from  the  gentle,  patient-minded,  and  no¬ 
ble  Anne  of  Cleves,  the  modern  Bluebeard  did  not  remain 
long  a  widower ;  for,  at  his  own  suggestion,  doubtless,  his 
lords  humbly  petitioned  him,  in  consideration  of  his  people’s, 
welfare,  to  venture  on  a  fifth  marriage,  in  the  hope  that  God 
would  bless  him  with  a  numerous  issue.  Anxious,  as  his 
whole  career  shows  him  ever  to  have  been,  for  the  good  and 
happiness  of  his  people,  this  pious  monarch  now  lovingly  con¬ 
descended  to  grant  their  prayer,  the  rather  that  it  was  s? 


234 


KATHARINE  HOWARD. 


humbly  tendeied,  and  within  a  month  Katharine  Howard  mada 
'  her  appearance  at  court  as  Queen.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
that  Lord  Edmund  Howard,  who  commanded  the  right  wing 
of  the  English  host  at  Flodden,  since  deceased  ;  niece  to  the 
Du)  e  of  Norfolk,  and,  of  course,  cousin  to  the  unhappy  Anne 
Boleyn,  whose  fate  she  was  so  soon  to  share.  She  had  been 
brought  up  by  the  dowager  Duchess  of  Norfolk— who  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  been  a  garrulous,  half-doting  beldame,  ut¬ 
terly  unfit  for  such  a  duty— and  first  attracted  Henry’s  eye  at 
a  dinner  party  of  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  where  she  was 
present,  it  is  said,  as  maid  of  honor  to  Queen  Anne  of  Cleves. 
She  was  not  a  tall,  commanding  beauty  of  the  king’s  favorite 
style,  but  very  small,  although  beautifully  shaped,  extremely 
pretty,  with  winning  ways,  and,  says  Lord  Herbert  of  Cher- 
bury,  “  by  a  notable  appearance  of  honor,  cleanness,  and  maid 
enly  behavior,  she  won  the  king’s  heart.”  During  about 
twelve  months  he  lived  with  her  in  great  content  and  delight, 
lavishing  on  her  every  mark  of  tenderness,  confidence,  and  af¬ 
fection.  He  carried  her  with  him  in  his  progress  to  York,  in 
the  following  year ;  for  it  delighted  him  to  have  her,  at  all 
times,  near  to  his  person,  and  he  professed  to  be  more  charmed 
with  her,  than  with  any  of  his  preceding  consorts.  Immediately 
previous  to  their  progress  to  York,  there  had  been  a  trivial 
Romish  insurrection  in  the  north,  headed  by  Sir  John  Neville, 
which  was  easily  suppressed,  but  which,  as  usual,  became  a 
means  of  strengthening  the  adverse  party,  and  afforded  a  cause 
for  renewed  bloodshed. 

Henry  attributed  it,  as  he  did  all  Papistical  disturbances,  to 
Cardinal  Pole,  and  seized  the  occasion  to  bring  his  mother,  the 
aged  Countess  of  Salisbury,  so  long  a  prisoner  in  the  tower,  at 
length  to  the  scaffold.  Then  followed  a  scene  of  unexampled  hor 


THE  COUNTESS  OF  SALISBURY. 


235 


ror  The  lion-hearted  septuagenarian,  the  last  of  the  long  and  glo 
rious  line  of  the  Plantagenets,  refused  to  bow  her  hoary  head  to 
ihe  block,  lest  by  so  doing  she  should  appear  to  admit  herself 
guilty  of  treason ;  not  that  she  feared  death — for  what  Planta- 
genet  ever  counted  that  worth  a  moment’s  thought? — but,  in  that 
fiery  a"\d  defiant  mood,  net  alien  to  the  spirit  of  her  mighty  an¬ 
cestors  she  strode  to  and  fro  on  the  scaffold,  her  features  flushed 
with  indignation,  shaking  her  dishevelled  locks  of  snow  abroad, 
like  the  mane  of  an  ancient  lioness,  and  bidding  the  execution¬ 
ers  “  win  her  head  as  they  could,  if  they  would  have  it.”  At 
length,  she  w'as  dragged  violently  to  the  block,  where  the  head¬ 
man  “  slovenly  butchered  her,  and  stained  the  scaffold  from  veins 
enriched  by  all  the  royal  blood  of  England.”  * 

But,  alas !  ere  long  a  sadder,  “  a  darker  departure  was  near” — 
even  hers,  the  delicate,  the  beautiful,  the  notably  maiden-looking 
Howard.  It  is  a  deep,  a  dreadful,  a  mysterious  tragedy  ;  and, 
like  that  of  her  kinswoman  and  predecessor  in  the  fearful  jour¬ 
ney  down  that  painful  and  bloody  road,  it  defies  all  scrutiny. 

That  there  was  a  religious  party,  strongly  set  against  Katha¬ 
rine,  as  there  had  been  one  against  Anne,  is  not  to  be  doubted/ 
The  Protestants  detested  the  former,  as  the  Catholics  hated  the 
latter,  owing  to  the  religions  of  the  queens,  whom  they  had, 
each  in  turn,  supplanted  ;  and  the  reformers,  with  the  Duke  of 
Cloves,  probably,  himself  at  their  head,  believed  that  if  the 
Howard  could  be  disposed  of,  Anne  of  Cleves  might  resume 
the  ascendency  ;  even  as  the  Catholics  had  previously  augured 
the  same  for  Katharine  of  Arragon,  if  the  Boleyn  could  be 
overthrown. 

That  the  charge  did  not  originate  with  the  reformers,  though 

*  Guthrio.  Quoted  by  Miss  Strickland,  iv.,  301. 


236 


CHARGES  AGAINST  KATHARINE. 


they  certainly  brought  it  forward,  and  that  it  was  not  all  a  plot, 
is  certain,  from  the  partial  confession  of  the  sufferers. 

During  the  progress  to  the  north,  it  appears  that  a  person  of 
the  name  of  Lascelles  came  with  information  to  Cranmer,  that 
absolute  proof  could  be  brought,  that  the  queen,  while  Mistress 
Catharine  Howard,  had  continually  admitted,  previously  to  her 
royal  marriage,  a  gentleman  to  her  bed,  of  the  name  of  Dere¬ 
ham,  then  page  to  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  in  whose  house  they 
both  resided  ;  and  that  this  said  Dereham,  with  certain  women 
who  had  been  privy  to  the  whole  affair  at  its  origin,  had  been 
taken  into  the  service  of  the  royal  household,  and  employed 
about  the  person  of  the  queen.  Henry  and  Katharine  reached 
Hampton  court  on  their  return,  just  previous  to  the  feast  of  All 
Saints,  and  on  that  day  “  the  king  revered  his  Maker,  and  gave 
him  most  hearty  thanks  for  the  good  life  he  led  and  trusted 
to  lead  with  his  wife.”  The  next  day,  while  he  was  at  mass, 
the  archbishop  placed  in  his  hand  a  paper  containing  the  infor¬ 
mation  which  he  had  received.  Henry,  for  once  in  his  life,  was 
deeply  grieved  and  perturbed;  and,  at  length,  disbelieving  the 
charges,  ordered  a  private  inquiry  to  be  held  into  the  matter, 
without  allowing  anything  thereof  to  reach  the  ears  of  the 
queen.  Lascelles,  his  sister,  who  had  been  in  the  Duchess  of 
Norfolk’s  household,  and  from  whom  the  story  originally  came, 
Dereham  himself,  and  others,  were  strictly  examined;  when 
it  came  out  that  Dereham  was  not  merely  admitted  to  the 
queen’s  presence,  but  had  been  employed  by  her  as  her  private 
secretary ;  and  that  while  at  Lincoln,  on  the  late  royal  progress, 
a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Culpepper,  of  the  privy  chamber, 
and  her  kinsman  on  the  mother’s  side,  had  remained  in  the 
queen’s  apartment,  with  none  but  herself  and  the  lady  Roche¬ 
fort — the  same  by  whose  testimony  Anne  Boleyn  was  convicted 


EVIDENCES  AGAINST  HER. 


237 


or  incest  with  her  own  brother,  and  the  husband  of  the  wit¬ 
ness — from  eleven  at  night,  until  two  of  the  morning.  This 
was  considered  sufficient  whereon  to  proceed  farther ;  and  the 
council  went  on  to  visit  and  examine  the  queen.  At  first,  she 
protested  her  innocence,  fell  into  fits,  and  seemed  half  frantic 
but,  at  a  later  visit  from  the  Archbishop  Cranmer,  who  brought 
her  some  assurance  from  Henry  of  mercy,  she  was  induced  to 
promise,  under  the  most  solemn  oaths  and  obligations,  to  an¬ 
swer  truly  all  questions  which  should  be  put  to  her.  Then,  on 
examination,  she  admitted  the  fatal  fact,  of  ante-connubial  inter¬ 
course  with  Dereham,  who,  it  seems,  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
calling  her  his  wife ;  but  she  insisted  that  all  the  favors  he  had 
ever  obtained  from  her  had  been  by  violence ;  and  she  vehe¬ 
mently  asseverated  that  from  the  hour  of  her  marriage,  she  had 
been  true  wife  to  the  king. 

To  do  Henry  justice,  it  must  be  said  that  he  does  not  seem 
to  have,  for  once  in  his  life,  in  any  wise  thirsted  after  her 
blood  ;  and  that  her  life  might  have  been  spared,  if,  by  admit¬ 
ting  a  precontract,  she  had  left  room  for  his  liberation  from  her, 
by  divorce.  But  this  she  could  not  be  brought  to  do  ;  proba¬ 
bly  not  understanding  the  urgency  of  Cranmer,  who  endeavored 
strenuously  to  obtain  such  an  avowal  from  her,  clearly  for  the 
purpose  of  saving  her,  though  he  dare  not  too  openly  declare 
his  v/bject.  She  persisted  that  all  he  had  ever  had  from  her,  he 
had  by  violence,  and  this  which  she  thought  should  defend,  did 
in  fact  destroy  her. 

Culpepper  and  Dereham  were  tried,  and  found  guilty  of  high 
treason,  and  were  left  to  suffer  their  penalty  of  crime.  The 
evidence,  certainly,  would  not  now  be  held  sufficient  for  con¬ 
viction  ;  but  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  presumption  was 
strongly  against  Dereham,  at  least,  in  consequence,  after  the  ad- 


238 


Katharine’s  attainder. 


mitted  relations  between  himself  and  the  queen,  of  his  reap¬ 
pearing  suddenly  at  court,  where  he  had  been  unknown  before, 
simultaneously,  or  nearly  so,  with  her  marriage ;  and  of  his 
being  appointed,  in  connection  with,  at  least,  one  other  individ¬ 
ual,  privy  to  what  had  gone  before,  to  a  post  of  trust,  giving 
him  easy  access  to  her  person. 

To  the  hapless  queen,  the  same  reasoning  forcibly  applies. 
It  is,  indeed,  possible,  that  the  depraved  persons  in  question, 
forced  themselves,  by  threats  of  revelation,  which  to  her  were 
threats  of  destruction,  upon  her  unwillingly ;  and  that  she  had 
no  ill  intention  in  retaining  them ;  still  her  case  is  one  of  early 
sin  and  shame,  perhaps  repented,  but  so  unfortunately  mixed 
up  with  grave  later  suspicions,  that  it  is  equally  dangerous  and 
difficult  to  absolve  or  to  condemn  her. 

The  case  against  Culpepper  is  entirely  different ;  no  guilt  or 
suspicion  of  guilt  attaches  to  him  ;  and  his  death  was  clearly 
as  illegal,  as  it  was  unjust  and  cruel. 

Under  the  present  state  of  law  in  England,  no  one  of  these 
persons  could  be  convicted  on  the  evidence.  The  hapless 
young  queen  was  never  put  on  her  trial,  or  suffered  to  speak  a 
word  in  her  own  behalf;  a  privilege  which  was  not  denied  to  her 
kinswoman,  Anne  Boleyn,  who,  though  die  might  not  convince 
her  judges,  or  avert  her  doom,  yet  left  a  burning  record  of  her  el¬ 
oquence  and  artless  pathos  to  plead  for  her,  with  a  posterity 
kinder  and  less  unforgiving  than  the  age  in  which  she  lived. 
Attainted  on  her  own  confession,  Katharine  was  sentenced  to 
be  beheaded,  with  the  Lady  Rochefort,  as  her  aider  and  abet 
tor,  and  Culpepper  and  Dereham  as  her  accomplices. 

Cruel  and  persevering  attempts  were  made  by  the  king,  to 
involve  all  her  family — the  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  Lord  Wil 
liarn  Howard,  her  uncle,  the  Countess  of  Bridgewater,  and 


Katharine’s  death. 


239 


Anne  Howard,  the  wife  of  her  brother  Henry,  in  her  min  ;  for 
the  blood  of  the  old  duchess,  especially,  he  seems  to  have 
thirsted,  owing  to  the  fact  of  her  having  abstracted  some  pa¬ 
pers  of  Dereham’s  from  a  trunk  in  her  possession,  which  he 
conceived  to  have  contained  evidence  on  the  point  in  question — • 
the  actual  commission  of  adultery  after  marriage,  between  the 
parties.  The  judges,  however,  for  once,  were  firm  against  him. 
Culpepper  and  Dereham,  the  latter  after  being  most  unmerci¬ 
fully  racked,  as  a  person  of  his  rank  might,  it  seems,  at  that 
time  legally  be,  in  order  to  extract  evidence  fatal  to  the  queen, 
though  wholly  without  effect,  were  executed;  the  former  by 
the  axe,  the  latter  by  the  gibbet  and  the  knife,  hanged,  drawn 
and  quartered.  It  was  two  months  later  before  the  queen  and 
Lady  Rochefort  were  beheaded,  within  the  tower,  meeting  their 
fate  with  perfect  calmness  and  decorum.  The  unhappy  How¬ 
ard  died,  the  first,  professing,  with  her  last  breath,  her  penitence 
for  her  early  sins,  though  declaring  her  innocence  of  the  crime 
for  which  she  suffered.  The  Lady  Rochefort  is  said — but  I  hold 
this  more  than  doubtful — to  have  expressed  herself  as  satisfied 
to  die,  for  that  she  had  betrayed  her  husband  to  death  by  her 
false  accusation  of  Queen  Anne  Boleyn,  but  that  otherwise  she 
was  conscious  of  no  crime. 

Several  things — among  other  the  fact  of  Cranmer  having 
felt  himself  in  danger,  as  a  favorer  of  the  new  learning,  and 
of  his  having  completely  recovered  his  own  position  and  that 
of  his  party,  by  means  of  the  eclat  they  gained  by  this  de¬ 
tected  plot,  as  well  as  his  extreme  and  evident  anxiety  to  save 
the  life  of  the  queen,  seem  to  indicate  a  consciousness,  that  she 
was  not  guilty  of  that  portion  of  the  crime  for  which  she  suf¬ 
fered,  and  which  was  not  certainly  proved  against  her.  Pre¬ 
sumptions,  however,  as  certainly  were  adverse  to  her,  and  that 


240 


EX  POST  FACTO  ENACTMENT. 


was  an  age  in  which  presumptions  lighter  far  than  these,  w  ;re 
held  to  be,  in  criminal  cases  of  this  nature, 


.  .  .  .  “  confirmations  strong 
As  proofs  of  holy  writ” 

All  her  relatives,  who  had  been  included  in  the  bill  of  at. 
tainder,  were  found  guilty  of  misprision  of  treason,  including 
the  old  duchess,  for  not  having  revealed  their  kinswoman’s  indis¬ 
cretion  before  she  was  elevated  to  the  royal  bed ;  but  the  king 
himself  seems  to  have  been  aware  of  the  absurdity  of  such  a 
procedure,  since  he  shortly  afterward  pardoned  all  the  subordi¬ 
nate  accessories. 

In  order,  however,  to  guard  against  such  contingencies  in  future, 
it  was  made  misprision  of  treason  in  any  person  knowing  or  sus¬ 
pecting  the  incontinence  of  any  woman  about  to  marry  with 
the  king,  who  should  not  reveal  the  same ;  and  high  treason 
in  any  woman,  who,  passing  for  a  true  maid,  not  in  very  deed 
being  such,  should  not  disclose  her  unchastity  to  him. 

At  this  enactment  the  people  made  exceeding  merry,  de 
daring  that  the  king  had  nothing  left  for  it  now,  but  to  marrj 
a  widow — as  he,  indeed,  did  soon  afterward — since,  surely,  m 
single  woman  would  take  him  at  such  risk.  There  seems  to 
be  some  difficulty  in  fixing  the  exact  date  of  Katharine  How¬ 
ard’s  execution,  some  historians  making  it  to  have  occurred  in 
1542,  and  others  in  1543.  The  12th  of  February  was  the 
day,  beyond  doubt,  and,  I  conceive,  of  the  former  year,  since 
we  must  otherwise  suppose  that  a  year  and  four  months  elapsed 
between  the  discovery  of  her  alleged  guilt,  in  November  10, 
1541,  and  the  infliction  of  her  punishment ;  which  savors  neither 
of  the  then  state  of  English  jurisprudence,  nor  of  the  headlong 
rapidity  of  Henry  in  the  determination  of  such  cases. 


THE  KING’S  BOOK. 


241 


Immediately  after  the  conclusion  of  this  sad  and  bloody 
business,  the  king,  as  usual,  turned  himself  to  a  directly  oppo. 
site  course,  and  betook  himself  to  piety,  and  to  the  disciplining 
his  subjects  on  religious  topics.  He,  this  year,  prohibited  the 
use  of  Tyndal’s  version  of  the  holy  scriptures,  as  “crafty,  false 
and  untrue;”  and  ordered  the  authorized  version  to  be  pub¬ 
lished  without  note  or  comment.  He  prohibited  the  reading 
even  of  the  authorized  copy  in  public;  restricted  the  use  of  it 
in  families,  to  the  houses  of  gentlemen  of  rank  and  nobles ;  and 
even  its  private  study  to  householders,  and  ladies  of  gentle 
birth.  Still,  desiring  to  provide  for  the  people  of  the  Christian 
church,  of  which  he  was  himself,  under  Christ,  the  supreme 
head,  some  work  of  religious  instruction,  he  caused  two  com¬ 
mittees  of  prelates  to  digest  a  new  code  of  doctrines  and  cer¬ 
emonies.  On  this  work  three  years  were  expended,  in  elabo¬ 
rating  it,  and,  on  the  thirtieth  day  of  April,  1543,  it  was  pro¬ 
duced  under  the  title  of  “  a  necessary  doctrine  and  erudition 
for  every  christened  man  ;  ”  *  but  it  was  generally  known  by 
the  name  of  the  “  king’s  book,”  and  continued  to  be,  until,  with 
the  accession  of  the  next  sovereign,  the  religion  of  the  kingdom 
was  again  changed,  the  only  recognized  standard  of  English 
orthodoxy. 

During  the  last  ten  or  twelve  years,  constant  dissensions,  and 
even  forays,  skirmishings,  invasions  and  counter  invasions  had 
been  in  process  on  the  Scottish  and  English  borders,  there  be¬ 
ing  a  powerful  Anglo-Protestant  party  in  the  neighboring  king¬ 
dom,  and  a  yet  more  powerful  French  and  Scottish  Papistical 
party ;  to  which  Francis,  following  an  hereditary  policy  of  the 
French  kings,  was  lending  constant  aid  and  comfort,  to  the 
great  wrath  of  Henry.  His  sister  Margaret,  the  queen  dowa- 


K 


*  Linganl,  vi.,  319. 


10 


242 


DEATH  OF  JAMES  V 


ger,  widow  of  James,  who  fell  at  Flodden,  and  wedded  a  third 
time,  to  her  paramour  Methuen,  having  been  divorced  by  Doug 
las,  had  lost  all  power  in  the  realm,  and  sunk  into  the  ob¬ 
scurity  of  private  life.  Her  son,  James  V.,  Henry’s  nephew, 
who  had  married  his  uncle’s  lady  love,  the  beautiful  Marie  de 
Longueville,  determinedly  adhered  to  the  cause  of  Rome,  and 
espoused  French  politics.  Enraged  at  some  trifling  defeat  of 
a  body  of  horse  at  Haldenrigs,  just  within  the  Scottish  border, 
Henry  now  declared  war,  laid  claim  to  the  crown  of  Scotland, 
as  its  feudal  superior,  and  ordered  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  to  levy 
an  army  at  York,  and  invade  his  nephew’s  country,  which  he 
did  with  success,  burning  many  towns,  and  laying  waste  the 
marches  far  and  near,  till  want  of  provisions  compelled  him  to 
fall  back,  and  return  to  Berwick. 

Thither  James,  having  levied  an  army  of  thirty  thousand 
men,  hastened  to  pursue  him  ;  but,  having  advanced  so  far  as 
to  the  field  of  Fala,  his  men  mutinied,  refused  to  cross  the  bor¬ 
ders,  and  all  that  he  could  do  was  to  dismiss  his  troops,  pro¬ 
ceed  in  person  to  the  western  marches,  and  order  Lord  Max¬ 
well,  the  warden,  to  enter  England  with  ten  thousand  men,  and 
remain  in  that  kingdom  as  many  days  as  Norfolk  had  tarried 
in  Scotland.  Maxwell,  however,  was  attacked  and  totally 
routed,  with  the  loss  of  the  whole  royal  train  of  artillery,  two  , 
earls,  five  barons,  and  two  hundred  gentlemen,  prisoners,  by  ' 
Lord  Wharton,  the  English  warden.  James,  despairing,  dis¬ 
eased  and  broken-hearted,  retired  to  Caerlaverock  castle,  where 
he  pined  for  awhile,  and  when  he  heard  that  his  beautiful  wife, 
had  borne  him  a  female  child,  afterward  the  most  beautiful  and . 
the  most  unhappy  of  queens,  Mary  of  Scotland,  died  with  the  • 
prophetic  words  upon  his  lips,  “  W oe  is  me !  the  crown  came v 
with  a  lassie,  and  with  a  lassie  it  will  pass  away  !  ” 


PEACE  WITH  CHARLES  V. 


243 


For  the  possession  of  that  infant  child,  arose  instant  rivalry 
between  Henry  and  Francis,  each  coveting  her  for  the  bride 
of  his  young  son,  as  a  means  of  annexing  her  dominions  to  his 
own.  Hence  war  broke  out  once  more  between  those  ancient 
rivals,  France  and  England  ;  and,  in  February,  1543,  peace  and 
amity  were  once  more  established  between  the  king  and  his 
imperial  nephew  ;  to  gratify  whom  Henry  consented  to  restore 
Mary  by  act  of  parliament,  to  her  right  of  succession  in  blood, 
though  without  any  mention  of  her  legitimacy ;  by  whieh 
means  he  avoided  the  difficulty  of  admitting  that  he  had 
wronged  her  mother.  War  was  then  made,  as  in  old  times, 
conjointly  by  the  imperialists  and  a  body  of  six  thousand  En¬ 
glish  auxiliaries;  but,  although  they  gained  some  trivial  advan¬ 
tages,  the  campaign  was  on  the  whole  unimportant. 

During  the  same  period,  however,  Henry  had  effected  much 
more  nearer  home,  and  had  thoroughly  carried  out  a  measure 
of  reform  of  the  greatest  importance  to  his  country  ;  the  com¬ 
plete  incorporation,  namely,  of  the  principality  of  Wales  with 
England,  and  the  abolition  of  all  the  distinctions  and  jurisdic¬ 
tions  of  the  two  portions  of  it ;  the  one  divided  into  shires,  and 
governed  by  the  laws  of  England,  the  other  consisting  of  one 
hundred  and  forty-one  several  lordships,  all  under  several  gov¬ 
ernments  and  jarring  laws.  It  was,  in  1536,  reduced  into  the 
regular  form  of  counties,  and  became,  under  English  laws,  a 
homogeneous  district  of  the  nation,  as  it  has  continued  ever 
since.  He,  likewise,  so  far  pacified  Ireland,  as  it  is  called,  as 
any  sovereign,  perhaps,  since,  certainly  before  him,  has  ever  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  doing,  whether  by  arms  or  by  conciliation.  At  least* 
he  is  the  first  who  assumed  the  title  of  king  of  Ireland  ;  of  the 
church  of  which,  as  well  as  of  that  of  England,  he  became  in  the 
same  year  which  saw  Wales  incorporated  with  England,  su- 


244 


KATHARINE  PARR,  OF  KENDAL. 


preme  head.  It  was  not,  however,  until  within  a  few  days 
before  the  execution  of  Katharine  Howard,  his  fifth  wife, 
in  1542,  that  he  assumed  the  title  of  king  of  Ireland.  That 
unhappy  lady,  therefore,  died  the  first  queen  of  the  United 
Kingdoms. 

|  We  have  now  brought  Ilenry,  the  uxorious,  fairly  dowrn  to 
the  period,  when  he  wedded  his  sixth  and  last  wife,  Katharine 
Parr  of  Kendal,  a  double  widow,  first  of  Lord  Borough,  an  i 
then  of  Neville,  lord  Latimer,  happier  in  this  than  any  of  her 
predecessors,  that  she  survived  her  lord,  preserving  his  regard 
to  the  last ;  though  she  once  nearly  lost  it  and  her  life  together ; 
at  a  period  of  his  life,  when  all  the  fits  of  sanguinary  frenzy  to 
which  he  had  been  formerly  liable,  were  but  as  passing  gusts 
compared  to  tropical  tornadoes,  to  those  which  now  possessed 
him.  Yet,  in  his  wildest  moods,  she  seems,  although  a  delicate 
and  gentle  creature,  of  small  stature,  and  mild  and  feminine 
demeanor,  more  to  have  swayed  him,  than  any  of  his  consorts, 
even  her  first  stately  and  majestic  namesake. 

She  is  remarkable,  moreover,  as  the  first  Protestant  English 
queen  of  England ;  for  so  far  is  it  from  being  true,  that  “  gos¬ 
pel  light  ”  as  stated  in  my  motto,  chosen  from  Gray's  exqui¬ 
site  fragment  on  education  and  government,  “  first  dawned  from 
Anna’s  eyes,”  that  she  was  as  completely  a  Romanist  as  ever 
kneeled  at  confessional,  except  that,  like  Henry,  and  for  the 
came  cause,  she  repudiated  the  supremacy  of  the  pope,  because 
adverse  to  her  own  interests  and  elevation.  Her  elevation  to 
the  throne  seems  to  have  given  the  most  general  satisfaction 
throughout  England ;  she  was  a  lady  of  no  less  genius  and 
learning,  than  piety,  morals,  grace  and  accomplishment ;  speci¬ 
mens  of  her  handiw'ork  in  embroidery  are  still  preserved  at 
Sizergh  castle,  and  other  places  which  she  honored  with  her 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  HENRY. 


24* 

residence ;  her  Latin  correspondence  with  Roger  Ascham, 
and  the  learned  men  of  the  universities,  extant  to  this  time, 
are  fully  equal  to  the  style  of  Latinity  of  the  day.  But  what 
most  shows  her  influence  over  the  king,  more  even  than  the  ad¬ 
mirable  way  in  which  she  soothed  his  peevish  and  almost  in¬ 
sane  irritability,  now  exacerbated  and  exaggerated  almost  to 
actual  madness  by  an  inveterate  and  incurable  ulcer  in  his  thigh, 
the  consequence,  undoubtedly,  of  his  gluttony  and  excess  in  wine, 
to  both  of  which,  as  he  advanced  in  years,  he  became  much  ad¬ 
dicted,  was  her  perfect  management  of  the  royal  children,  now 
wholly  committed  to  her  charge. 

To  conciliate  the  affections,  govern  the  tempers,  cultivate  the 
parts  of  the  children  of  three  queens,  so  widely  differing  in 
character,  religion,  temper  and  fortunes,  as  Katharine  of  Arra- 
gon,  the  stately  Spanish  lady,  the  Catholic  daughter  of  Isabella, 
the  most  Catholic  queen ;  as  Anne  Boleyn,  the  light,  witty, 
brilliant,  impulsive  French  coquette,  to  whom  religion  was  but 
an  outward  vestment,  not  “  that  within,  which  passes  shew  ;  ” 
as  Jane  Seymour,  the  moderate,  gentle,  calm,  feminine  English¬ 
woman  ;  with  parts  never  exceeding  mediocrity,  was  in  itself 
no  small  task,  no  unarduous  duty. 

But,  when  we  look  at  the  children  themselves,  at  the  nations 
which  were  hanging,  breathless  partizans,  on  the  ascendency  of 
each — when  we  consider  Mary,  cold,  taciturn,  grave,  suffering 
constantly  from  excruciating  neuralgic  headaches,  already  a  se¬ 
vere  religionist,  and  a  learned  and  accurate  scholar,  who  had,  as 
yet,  shown  no  tokens,  however,  of  that  hard-heartedncss  and 
cruelty,  which  were  developed  in  her  as  she  rose  to  power,  and 
which  probably  were  caused  by  the  influence  of  others  over 
her,  rather  than  by  innate  illness  of  disposition — Mary,  on 
whom  hung  the  hopes  of  Spain,  of  the  Empire,  of  Rome,  the 


246 


PROTESTANT  ASCENDENCT. 


idol  of  the  old  Roman  pally  in  England,  who  trusted  in  hei 
again  to  sec  their  church  restored  to  its  pristine  grandeur — when 
we  consider  Elizabeth,  already  headlong,  impetuous,  full  of  the 
hot  Tudor  blood,  the  very  daughter  of  very  father,  she,  too, 
learned,  overflowing  with  a  strong,  steady  geuius — Elizabeth, 
already  the  chosen  head  of  the  party  of  the  Anglican  church, 
and  looked  up  to  by  the  preeminently  English  party, as  to  her 
one  day  destined  to  afford  the  strongest  type  of  the  most  En¬ 
glish  sovereign — when  we  look  at  Edward,  gentle,  kind-tem¬ 
pered,  with  some  small  taste  for  letters,  but  timid,  mediocre, 
formal,  narrow-minded,  wholly  under  the  dominion  of  the 
strongest  intellect  near  him,  and  those  intellects  attached  to  the 
strictest  Puritanism — it  will  be  easy  to  see,  how  difficult  aud 
dangerous  a  part  she  had  to  play. 

It  is  true,  that  by  the  execution  of  Katharine  Howard,  who 
belonged  strongly  to  that  faith,  to  which  her  powerful  descen¬ 
dants  still  adhere,  by  the  elevation  of  the  present  queen  to  the 
throne,  and  by  the  strong  influence  which  the  Seymours  had 
obtained  over  the  king,  through  their  relationship  to  his  “  best 
loved  wife,”  Jane,  and  to  his  heir,  prince  Edward,  the  anti-Ro- 
mish,  and  even  the  Protestant  party  in  the  kingdom  had  gained 
a  strong  ascendency,  which  in  fact,  during  Henry’s  life-time, 
they  never  wholly  lost. 

Still,  to  deny  the  seven  sacraments,  to  doubt  the  real  pres¬ 
ence,  to  dispute  the  efficacy  of  prayers  to  the  saints,  masses  for 
the  dead,  auricular  confession  or  supreme  unction — in  short,  to 
be  openly  a  Protestant-was  to  go  to  the  stake  just  as  certainly 
as  to  deny  the  kiug’s  supremacy,  was  to  be  gibbeted,  drawn 
and  quartered  for  high  treason. 

And  Katharine  was  a  Protestant,  with  all  the  deep  and  fer- 
pent  belief  of  her  tranquil,  sincere,  and  self-possessed  soul. 


BALANCE  OF  RELIGIONS. 


247 


And  Katharine,  though  she  was  the  bloated  tyrant’s  “  best, 
dearest  wife,  and  sweetheart,”  would  have  been  consigned  to 
the  flames,  with  as  little  scruple  or  hesitation,  as  would  the 
lowest-born  handmaiden,  the  poorest  clerk,  in  all  England. 

And  ever  the  greedy  eyes  of  the  Catholics  w’ere  watching  her, 
sharpened  by  interest  and  hatred,  to  catch  her  in  any  lapse  of 
faith,  any  offence  against  orthodoxy,  that  they  might  give  her 
to  the  fagot,  as  they  alleged  the  Protestants  had  given  her 
predecessor  to  the  block. 

A  strange  age,  truly,  when  the  two  great  religions  of  tho 
world  hung  balanced  on  the  smiles  and  tears,  the  sorrows  and 
the  sins,  the  misery  and  the  blood,  of  royal  ladies ;  and  when 
a  whispered  word,  a  stolen  kiss,  came  to  be  watched  and  sought 
for,  as  the  casting  weight  which  was  to  turn  the  scale  between 
balanced  creeds. 

During  her  very  honeymoon,  owing  to  the  ill  will  of  Gar¬ 
diner  to  the  royal  bride,  Persons,  Testwood,  and  Filmer  were 
passed  through  flames  to  a  celestial  crown,  for  holding  to  the 
new  religion.  Marbeck,  against  whom  no  evidence  was  ad¬ 
duced,  but  a  few  MS.  notes  on  the  bible,  and  some  hundred 
pages  of  a  Latin  concordance,  found  in  his  house,  in  process  of 
arrangement,  by  the  informers,  would  have  followed  them  to 
the  stake ;  but  Katharine  contrived  that  the  concordance, 
should  be  shown  to  Henry,  who,  with  all  his  vices,  was  learned 
himself,  and  loved  learning. 

“  Alas !  poor  Marbeck  !  ”  he  exclaimed,  moved  for  once  by 
an  honest  and  manly  feeling.  “  It  would  be  well  for  thine  ac¬ 
cusers,  if  they  had  employed  their  time  no  worse!”*  and  so 
he  pardoned  him.  Shortly  afterward,  encouraged  by  his  sue 

•Soame's  History  of  tho  Reformation.  Qiirted  by  Miss  Strickland,  iv.,  Kath 
Parr,  81. 


24S 


PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  ROTALTT. 


cess  thus  far,  Gardiner  struck  a  blow,  through  his  tools,  Dr. 
London  and  Symonds,  at  some  higher  persons,  members  of 
the  queen’s  household — Dr.  Haines,  dean  of  Exeter,  and  pre¬ 
bend  of  Windsor,  Sir  Philip  Hoby  and  his  lady  ;  Sir  Thomas 
Carden,  and  others  of  the  royal  household,  and  if  this  blow 
had  told  successfully,  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  the  queen 
would  have  been  the  next  accused.  But,  in  order  to  ensure 
their  conviction,  false  evidence  must  be  used,  by  supposititious 
documents  introduced  by  one  Oclcley,  the  clerk  of  the  court, 
among  the  papers  of  the  accused.  The  plot  was  discovered  to 
the  queen  ;  the  forged  documents  were  seized,  London  and 
Symonds,  not  knowing  what  had  happened,  perjured  them¬ 
selves  ;  were  tried  for  that  crime,  convicted,  led  through  the 
streets  of  London,  on  horseback,  with  their  faces  to  the  horses’ 
tails,  and  pilloried,  with  papers  on  their  foreheads  setting  forth 
their  crime — and  so  the  present  danger  passed,  and  the  mat¬ 
ter  ended. 

/  In  the  meantime,  Katharine  had  as  completely  won  the  af¬ 
fections  of  the  royal  children,  which,  to  the  day  of  her  death, 
she  never  lost,  as  she  had  that  of  the  king,  their  father,  and  of 
the  best  of  his  subjects ;  and  there  is  no  doubt,  that  much,  the 
best,  part  of  all  their  characters  is  in  some  degree  to  be  attributed 
to  her  education.  The  Latin  style  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth, 
who  were  both  proficients  in  writing  that  terse  and  difficult 
language,  is  almost  identical  with  her  own;  aud  the  fine  pen¬ 
manship  of  Edward  VI.,  her  step-son,  closely  resembles  her 
beautiful  manuscript.  She  lived  on  the  most  intimate  terms 
of  friendship  with  them  all,  a  sweet,  domestic,  highly  accom 
plished  English  matron,  rather  than  a  mighty  queen  ;  as  is 
clearly  shown  by  many  notes,  still  extant,  op  familiar  subjects 
which  passed  between  those  royal  ladies,  as  also  between 


FRENCH  CAMPAIGN. 


240 


Katharine  and  her  predecessor,  Anne  of  Cleves,  whose  Prot¬ 
estantism  was  probably  another  link  between  them  ;  and  as  is 
farther  proved  by  the  lists  of  prices,  paid  for  little  mutual 
presents,  and  tokens  of  affection,  which  have  casually  come 
down  to  our  days  —  beautiful  memorials  of  the  past,  rescued 
like  waifs  from  the  ocean  of  time — as  charges  on  the  daybooks 
of  the  royal  expenditures. 

In  the  year  following  his  marriage,  “July  14,  1544,  Henry 
crossed  the  seas  from  Dover  to  Calais,  in  a  ship  with  sails  of 
cloth  of  gold.”  *  He  went  in  compliance  with  a  treaty  of  of¬ 
fensive  alliance,  entered  into  with  the  emperor,  in  the  year  be¬ 
fore,  by  which  they  were  to  reclaim  Burgundy  for  Charles,  and 
the  French  possessions  of  the  English  crown  for  Henry  ;  and 
on  refusal,  make  war  in  common.  “  On  the  25th,  he  took  the 
field  in  person,  armed  at  all  points,  mounted  on  a  great  cour¬ 
ser,  and  so  rode  out  of  Calais,  with  a  princely  train,  attended 
by  Sir  William  Herbert,  the  queen’s  brother  in-law,  bearing 
his  head  piece  and  spear,  and  followed  by  the  henxmen,  bravely 
horsed  and  apparelled.  Katharine’s  brother,  the  Earl  of  Es¬ 
sex,  was  chief  captain  of  the  men-at-arms,  in  this  expedition.” 

Before  setting  out,  Henry  created  his  queen,  as  he  had  done 
his  first  Katharine,  in  his  previous  invasion  of  France,  queen 
regent  of  the  realm,  during  his  absence  ;  Hertford,  the  uncle 
of  Prince  Edward,  was  to  assist  her,  and  be  ever  resident  at 
her  court,  and  attendant  on  her  person.  If  he  were  forced  to 
be  absent,  then  Cranmer  was  to  attend  her,  and  Sir  William 
Petre,  Lord  Parr  of  Horton,  the  Bishop  of  W iuchester,  and 
Wriothesley,  were  to  complete  her  council. 

By  an  act  of  parliament,  also  passed  before  his  departure, 


*  Miss  Strickland,  vol.  iv.,  Katli.  Tarr,  31. 

K* 


HENRY  S  SUCCESSION. 


1*50 

lie  finally  settled  his  succession,  which  had  been  settled  and  un 
settled  with  every  successive  validation  or  invalidation  of  mar¬ 
riage,  legitimating  or  illegitimating  of  heirs,  five  or  six  times, 
at  least,  since  his  accession.  This  was,  indeed,  final ;  and  as  it 
did  actually  regulate  the  succession,  is  worthy  of  notice. 

In  it  he  condescends  to  mention  only  two  of  his  marriages, 
those  of  Jane  Seymour,  and  Katharine  Parr,  passing  over  all 
the  others,  as  if  they  had  never  existed  at  all.  lie  appoints 
Prince  Edward  his  heir ;  and,  failing  him  or  his  hell's  male, 
then,  any  issue  he  mav  have  by  his  most  entirely  beloved 
Queen  Katharine.  Failing  issue  by  Katharine,  then  the  issue 
of  any  other  lawful  wife;  and  failing  all  these,  his  daughter 
Mary  and  her  issue,  and  on  failure  of  her  line  also,  his 
daughter  Elizabeth,  and  her  heirs  forever.  Who  those  daugh¬ 
ters  were,  or  by  what  mothers,  he  does  not  condescend  to 
name,  lest  he  should  be  led  into  an  acknowledgment  of  their 
legitimacy,  or  the  lawfulness  of  the  marriages  of  the  queens, 
from  whom  they  sprung. 

This  French  campaign,  though  Henry  was  at*thc  head  of  a 
mighty  force  of  thirty  thousand  Englishmen  and  fifteen  thou¬ 
sand  imperialists,  did  not  effect  much  ;  the  king  persisting  in 
besieging  Boulogne,  which  detained  him  two  months  by  a  des¬ 
perate  resistance,  instead  of  advancing  on  Paris,  joining  the 
emperor,  and  closing  the  campaign  by  a  splendid  dash  at  the 
capital.  Still  the  reduction  of  Boulogne  was  well  and  gal¬ 
lantly  effected,  and  its  conquest  afforded  the  king  an  opportu¬ 
nity  of  returning  home  in  triumph,  with  the  pomp  and  splen¬ 
dor  of  a  great  conqueror. 

In  the  following  year,  the  war  was  carried  on  principally  at 
sea ;  where  Francis  endeavored,  in  vain,  to  acquire  a  superi¬ 
ority.  But,  although  the  king’s  great  ship,  the  Mary  Rose, 


henry’s  last  peace. 


251 


was  sunk  before  his  own  eyes  at  Portsmouth,  the  English 
squadrons  kept  tne  seas,  the  French  rarely  daring  to  exchange 
a  few  cannon  shots,  and,  both  in  the  channel  and  in  the  Neth¬ 
erlands  the  war  languished,  for  want  of  moneys.  The  king’s 
vast  prodigalities,  though  ho  was  esteemed  the  most  wealthy 
prince  in  Europe,  had  utterly  exhausted  his  treasuries ;  and, 
although  he  had  recourse  to  every  unkingly  and  unmanly  plan 
to  recruit  them,  extorting  money  for  pardons,  manufacturing 
false  charges  of  treason,  and  misprision  of  treason,  in  order  to 
countenance  such  proceedings,  and  even  pillaging  the  jewel 
boxes,  seizing  the  wardrobes,  and  confiscating  the  dowries  of 
his  repudiated  and  beheaded  wives,  he  was  now  reduced  to  the 
narrowest  straits  for  money,  and  was,  in  fact,  unable  to  main¬ 
tain  the  war  for  want  of  it. 

After  great  difficulties,  by  debasement  of  coin,  and  levying 
contributions  and  benevolences  from  the  clergy,  he  contrived 
to  raise  sufficient  means,  during  this  winter,  for  the  ordinary 
needs  of  the government ;  and,  at  length,  in  June,  1543,  a 
peace  was  agreed  on  with  Francis,  which  was  far  longer  of 
duration  than  most  measures,  which  depended  in  any  re¬ 
spect  for  their  origin  or  conclusion,  on  Henry’s  pleasure  or 
caprices. 

It  endured  until  he,  who  made  it,  had  gone  to  that  place, 
where  there  are  no  wars  of  mortal  making ;  but  where  there 
is,  whether  he  found  it,  or  they,  whom  he  had  sent  thither,  in 
such  multitudes,  through  pain  and  tribulation,  by  fire  and  the 
sword,  that  peace  forever  and  forever,  which  passeth  under¬ 
standing. 

From  this  day,  that  of  his  return,  I  mean,  to  England,  to 
the  end,  the  life  of  Henry  all  is  horror — a  mere  repetition  of 
the  dreadful  circumstances,  which  surrounded  the  end  of  Ma- 


252 


STRIFE  OF  RELIGIOUS  PARTIES. 


rius,  the  great  Roman  plebeian,  in  whose  dying  ears  rang  for¬ 
ever  the  knell — 

<c  Asivai  yap  xoirai  xai  affoi^ofLSvoio  Xjov7o£.”  * 

Tlie  dread  of  treason,  in  the  king,  had  brought  forth  blood¬ 
shed.  The  dread  of  bloodshed,  in  the  subject,  had  brought 
forth  treason  to  the  king, 

To  gain  his  own  ends  he  had  broken  up  the  church,  into 
two  parties,  and  played  one  against  the  other,  so  long  as  he 
had  strength  and  health  and  power  to  play  them.  But,  as 
health  failed,  and  strength,  and  power  of  will,  as  energy  de¬ 
parted,  and  suspicion  only  and  irritability  remained  and  increased 
upon  him,  the  two  parties  of  the  church  played  out  the  game, 
the  one  against  the  other,  each  striving  to  keep  the  name  and 
the  authority  of  the  king  with  them,  flattering  his  passions, 
and  pandering  to  his  infirmities,  in  order  to  strike  with  the 
sword,  which  he  could  himself  no  longer  wield. 

One  day,  it  was  Gardiner  and  the  Chancellor  Wriothesley 
who,  working  on  his  jealous  suspicions  against  the  heretics, 
caused  the  young,  beautiful,  and  delicate  Anne  Askew  to  be 
racked  to  extremity,  and  to  die  at  the  stake — who,  taking  ad¬ 
vantage  of  some  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  the  queen,  actu¬ 
ally  obtained  from  him  an  order  for  her  arrest  and  committal 
to  the  tower  as  a  heretic.  The  next  day,  it  was  the  Seymours, 
the  low-born  uncles  of  the  young  Prince  Edward,  who,  leaning 
to  the  side  of  the  “  new  learning,”  only  because  the  Norfolks, 
their  bitterest  enemies,  held  to  the  old,  played  upon  his 
dying  weakness,  and  stimulated  his  ancient  jealousies  into  what 
may,  I  thiuk,  be  deemed  real  madness.  ' 
f  The  queen’s  rare  virtue  and  prudence  carried  her  scathless 


*  “For  dreadful  is  the  den  even  of  the  dying  ion.' 


henry’s  last  crimes. 


253 


through  the  perils  of  the  deep-laid  treachery,  which  had  so 
nearly  overwhelmed  her.  All  that  Wriothesley  gained  by 
his  base  and  insidious  scheme,  when  he  entered  the  garden  of 
Hampton  Court,  where  Henry  was  taking  the  air,  with  his 
“  sweetheart,”  with  whom  he  had  again  become  “  perfect 
friends,”  having  the  guards  at  his  heels  to  convey  her  to  the 
tower,  was  to  be  called,  “Beast  and  fool  and  knave” — all 
three  of  which  he  indeed  was — and  to  be  bade,  “Avaunt  from 
his  presence !  ” 

To  dwell  on  the  imbecility  of  crime  and  cruelty,  as  it  dwin¬ 
dles  into  the  weakness  of  the  last  ashes  of  itself,  is  in  itself  a 
painful  task  and  horrible.  But  when  that  last  weakness  is 
perverted  and  distorted  to  the  commission  of  yet  worse  wick¬ 
edness,  than  the  strength  and  maturity  of  its  power  had  con¬ 
ceived,  it  leads  us  to  doubt  whether  the  tyrant  himself,  or  the 
age  of  tyranny,  which  he  created  and  fostered  to  his  own  de¬ 
struction,  were  most  savage  and  tyrannical. 

Of  all  Henry’s  atrocious  crimes,  those  for  which  he  has 
been  censured  the  most  unsparingly,  condemned  with  the  deep¬ 
est  condemnation,  are  precisely  those,  in  my  thinking,  of  which 
he  is  the  least  guilty. 

While  I  do  not  believe  —  God  forbid!  —  in  the  old  Greek 
tragic  creed  of  fate,  that  ancestral  crime  must  produce  crime, 
and  reproduce  it,  generation  after  generation,  I  do  believe,  for 
I  have  read  it  in  history,  and  seen  it  in  nature,  that  blood  be¬ 
gets  the  thirst  of  blood,  even  as  wine  begets  the  thirst  of 
wine. 

The  drunkard  in  blood,  as  the  drunkard  in  wine,  under  the 
curse  of  habit,  when  the  cup  is  thrust  before  his  lips,  must 
drink.  Wo  be  to  those  who  administer  the  cup ! 

When  the  noble  and  gallant,  the  chivalrous  and  lettered 


DEATH  OF  HRXRT. 


254 


$  -  -  o 

. 

signed  the  fatal  w  Ami! it. 

\ 

s 

the  pdNwd  Gap  is  of  the  blood-haunted  despot  against  the  life 
of  his  v.  hlkvooe  favorites,  they  could  not  ri:>d  life  enough  in  th  >se 
aietcbed  mortal  _  st  business*  A  stamp 

s  s  'toad  of  *  >  :  :  before  the  Stan 

warrant  could  be  brought  hit 

had  departed  to  the  mdgment  place —  perhaps,  to  bear  testi¬ 
mony  against  :  hose  who  lad  porw  s  last  Igaut^  and 
hud  upon  hi#  memory  even  a  deeper  stain  of  blood,  than  tlv.t 
which  rests  upon  his  smil. 

.  v  -Ism.  .  lo4T.  ja  the  :  .. 

A  year  cf  his  _  .  >  xth  of  Ins  age,  the  mos: 

chess#  most  us> '  ess.  most  wort  mess.  monarch  of  Jus^day.  who 
_  :  ha  • .  .  .  ..  .  .  o.  u  ;■  ss.  #> 

in  a  remote  degree  proportionate  to  his  talents,  his  capacities, 
his  or  lVvramit'ies. 

h  is  wonderful  to  relate,  because  it  is  evidently.,  vvidental 
t".d  :  providential,  that  the  leaden  coffin,  in  which  his  era- 
tiaimed  and  perfumed  body  was  enclosed, — in  the  wretched 
gas  sa  .  . 

law#  of  corruption — -being  suffered  to  fall  upon  the  pavement, 
the  g  re  oozed  out.  and  as  the  mad.  epileptic  nun.  Barton,  and 
:h<  .  o  o  u  ;\y;  .  had  vtv.lhtod  :  him.  tc  his  teeth — 
‘The  dogs  did  lick  op  his  blood,  as  they  licked  up  that  of 
Aliab  l” 

s 

tviv.g.  and  .verse  man.  wrought,  simply  for  his  own  prvrl:  and 


THE  ENDS  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


255 


self-gratification,  not  one  operated  as  he  intended  and  desired 
that  it  should  operate. 

The  cherished  heir  male,  whom  he  so  deeply  sinned  to  have 
his  heir,  died  hcirless,  after  a  vain  attempt  to  create  an  intol¬ 
erant,  dominant  religion,  of  that  Puritan  heresy  which  his  father 
had  most  abhorred  and  persecuted. 

The  daughter  of  the  Spanish  queen,  the  right  royal  Katha¬ 
rine,  whom  he  had  robbed  of  all,  but  honor,  reinstated,  through 
blood  and  fire,  the  church,  which  he  had,  as  he  thought,  pros¬ 
trated  forever ;  and  all  but  made  England  Spanish,  and  the 
church  of  England,  Romish. 

The  daughter  of  the  woman,  whom  he  had  stigmatized  with 
incest,  not  content  to  slay,  completed  the  work,  in  which  ho 
would  not  have  that  she  should  put  a  finger,  but  completed  it, 
not  as  Ilenry  would,  but  as  God  would  have  it !  —  completed 
it,  so  that  out  of  the  worst  English  despotism,  grew  the 
most  perfect  English  liberty — out  of  the  deepest  Romish  dark¬ 
ness,  dawne-d  the  most  lustrous  light,  the  day  spring  from  on 
high,  which,  once  arisen,  can  go  down  no  more  nor  be  put  out 
forever. 


KATHARINE  OF  ARRAGON, 

MARRIED,  1509;  REPUDIATED,  1583. 


Tub  qnecn  of  earthly  queens; — She  is  noble  born; 

And,  like  her  tv  o  nobility,  she  has 
Carried  herself  ward  me. 

Shafspea-ee,  K.  IT&nry  VJUL 


KATHARINE  OF  ARRAGON. 


BORN,  1483;  MARRIED,  FIRST,  1501;  SECOND,  1509;  REPUDIATED, 
1533;  DECEASED,  1536. 


The  queen  of  earthly  queens: — Sho  is  noble  born; 

And,  like  her  true  nobility,  she  has 
Carried  herself  toward  me. 

Shakspeake,  K.  Henry  VIII. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Had  one  no  other  object  in  view,  than  to  select  a  subject, 
for  declamation,  illustrative  of  the  vicissitudes  of  human  af¬ 
fairs,  the  instability  of  human  fortunes,  the  mutability,  in  one 
word,  of  everything  terrestrial  and  mortal,  contrasted  with  the 
sublime  spectacle  of  a  Christian  soul,  while  yet  contained  within 
the  poor,  perishable  body,  remaining  constant,  unaltered,  and 
the  same,  through  all  changes  of  condition,  all  trials  sorest  to 
the  heart,  all  calamities  most  difficult  to  endure  serenely,  up¬ 
held  by  the  innate  consciousness  of  worth,  by  a  clear  sense  of 
the  obligations  imposed  by  noble  birth,  and,  above  all,  by  a 
secure  faith  and  fervent  piety, — I  know  not  whither  he  should 
turn  to  seek  one  more  consistently,  than  to  the  page,  which  con¬ 
tains  the  records  of  this  most  royal  lady,  her  varied  sorrows, 
but  unvarying  majesty  and  virtues. 

Were  one  to  exhaust  all  history,  all  romance,  to  draw  to 
the  utmost  on  the  dreams  of  unmixed  imagination,  in  order  to 


2(30 


BIRTH  OF  KATHARINE. 


find  something  nobler  in  its  origin,  more  blessed  in  its  early 
promise,  more  prosperous  and  full  of  all  good  augury  in  the 
first  years  of  life’s  voyage,  more  consistent  with  that  promise 
and  augury  in  its  undisturbed  and  gorgeous  noontide,  than  the 
career  of  this  illustrious  princess  and  great  queen,  from  her 
cradle  to  her  fortieth  year,  or  even  something  later,  he  would 
exhaust  history,  exhaust  fiction,  bankrupt  imagination,  to  no 
purpose. 

Were  he  to  ransack  all  storehouses  of  sorrow,  humiliation, 
and  indignity,  heaped  on  a  virtuous  and  almost  perfect  woman’s 
head,  and  borne  with  unswerving  constancy  and  patience,  with 
unruffled  temper,  with  more  than  manly  dignity,  yet  with  the 
grace,  the  tenderness,  the  feminine  affection  of  the  most  deli¬ 
cate  and  gentlest  woman,  he  could  find  nothing  to  surpass,  no¬ 
thing,  in  my  thought,  to  equal,  the  examples  shown  in  the  lat¬ 
ter  years  of  Katharine  of  Arragon. 

The  youngest  daughter  of  the  two  greatest  monarchs  of  the 
most  powerful,  splendid,  and  civilized  country,  at  that  day,  in 
all  Europe,  Ferdinand  of  Arragon,  and  Isabella  of  Castille, 
who  won  from  the  Saracen  Abencerrages  and  Almohades  the 
long  lost  patrimony  of  the  Gothic  kings,  and  first  united  the 
rich  provinces  of  Spain  within  the  compass  of  one  gorgeous 
diadem,  to  whom  Columbus,  “the  world-seeking  Genoese,” 
gave,  while  she  was  yet  but  a  child,  careless  of  royalty,  new 
worlds  across  the  western  oceau,  and  the  proud  right  to  bear 
the  vaunting  words,  “Pious  oultre”  —  “Yet  more  beyond” 
the  pillars  of  the  Spanish  Hercules  and  limits  of  the  ancient 
world, — she  was  bom  amid  the  bray  of  trumpets,  the  splendor 
and  the  din  of  arms,  and  all  the  pageantry  and  pomp  of  Spau 
ish  chivalry — and  chivalry  in  those  days  was  preeminently 
Spauish — while  her  admirable  mother,  one  of  the  most  charm 


ENGLAND  AND  SPAIN. 


2G1 


ing  heroines  of  history,  was  waging  war,  as  herself  the  inde¬ 
pendent  queen  of  an  independent  nation,  against  the  magnifi¬ 
cent  Moors  of  Grenada. 

For  many  centuries,  Spain  and  England  had  been  bound 
by  strict  links  of  amity  and  alliance,  as  well  as  by  connection 
of  their  blood  royal.  The  arms  of  the  English  Plantagenets 
had  given  their  aid  to  support  the  legitimate  line  of  Castille 
against  domestic  treason,  as  against  foreign  warfare  ;  and  two 
several  princes  of  the  blood  of  that  indomitable  race,  Edmund 
of  York,  and  John  of  Ghent,  duke  of  Lancaster,  had  severally 
married  ancestresses  of  this  lady.  So  settled,  indeed,  had  be¬ 
come  the  policy,  and  so  near  to  the  national  heart  was  the  sen¬ 
timent  of  friendship  toward  England,  that  we  find  it  recorded 
in  that  most  popular  of  all  forms  of  record,  in  Spain  more  es¬ 
pecially,  I  mean  the  proverb,  in  which  no  other  extant  lan¬ 
guage  is  so  rich  as  that  of  Cervantes. 

The  existence  of  such  a  saying  as  this,  alive  in  the  mouths 
of  a  proud  and  homogeneous  people,  from  a  very  remote  an¬ 
tiquity — 

“Con  todo  el  mundo  gnerra 
Y  paz  con  Inglaterra” — 

testifies  to  no  suddenly-born  or  transient  policy  of  cabinets 
or  kings,  but  to  a  genuine  and  established  national  belief;  nor 
was  it,  until  dissensions  arose,  which  perhaps  had  their  origin 
in  the  wrongs  of  this  very  princess,  which  were  exaggerated 
by  religious  struggles  and  persecutions,  enduring  through  many 
generations,  and  deeply  stirring  the  general  heart  of  both 
countries,  that  the  mutual  disposition  to  a  traditional  and  al¬ 
most  hereditary  amity,  has  passed  away  and  become  extinct, 
probably  forever. 

It  is  worthy  of  remembrance,  that  Isabella  of  Castille,  her 


2G2 


THE  PERIOD  OF  HER  BIRTH. 


self,  the  mothei  of  Katharine,  had  been  betrothed  in  her  early 
youth  to  Edward  IV.,  grandfather  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  had 
been  slighted  and  discarded  by  that  licentious  monarch,  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  his  suddenly-conceived  passion  for  the  beautiful 
Elizabeth  Woodville,  which  he  could  by  no  means  gratify, 
save  on  conditions  of  honorable  matrimony. 

Of  this  wise  and  heroical  queen,  Katharine  was  the  young¬ 
est  child,  by  her  politic  and  prudent  consort,  Ferdinand  V.  of 
Arragon  ;  who — after  the  death  of  his  wife  and  her  daughters, 
Isabella  and  Joanna,  the  former  without  issue  by  her  husbands, 
Alphonso  and  Manuel  of  Portugal,  the  latter  leaving  an  infant, 
afterward  the  famous  emperor,  Charles  V.,  whom  she  bore  to 
Philip,  son  of  Maximilian  and  Mary  of  Burgundy — succeeded 
to  the  administration  of  the  kingdom  of  Castille,  by  right 
of  guardianship  to  his  grandson,  as  heir  male  of  Isabella’s 
royalty. 

The  monarchs  of  these  two  provinces,  which  they  indeed 
united,  and  left  one  kingdom,  to  their  successors,  yet  governed 
them  severally  and  singly  ;  neither  assuming  to  exercise  sov¬ 
ereign  rights  in  the  realm  of  the  other,  but  carrying  on  their 
governments,  each  by  the  ministers  of  each,  and  each  com 
manding  the  armies  of  the  kingdoms  they  represented,  per¬ 
sonally  or  by  national  vicegerents.  At  the  time  of  Katharine’s 
birth,  December  15,  1485,  Isabella,  with  her  famous  clerical 
counsellor  and  captain,  Cardinal  Ximenes,  was  in  the  full  pros¬ 
ecution  of  her  long  and  difficult  war  against  the  unfortunate 
Boabdil,  the  last  of  the  Saracen  kings  of  Spain,  and  his  heroic 
mother  ;  who  did  not  ultimately  succumb  to  the  arms  of  the 
royal  consorts,  until  in  1492,  when  the  young  princess,  who  was 
born  in  the  city  of  Alcala  de  Ilenares,  during  one  of  the  martial 
progresses  of  her  royal  mother,  and  much  of  whose  early  life 


LAST  DAYS  OF  CHIVALRY. 


203 


was  passed  in  the  besieging  camp,  on  the  banks  of  those  deli 
cious  rivers,  the  Xenil  and  Darro,  watering  the  lovely  vegas 
of  Granada,  and  within  view  of  the  exquisite  Alhambra,  was 
in  the  ninth  year  of  her  age. 

What  a  world  of  romance  must  have  passed,  in  splendid 
review,  before  the  admiring  eyes  of  that  young  Spanish  girl, 
in  those  strange  years,  wherein  expiring  chivalry  decked  itself, 
like  the  dying  dolphin,  or  the  autumnal  forest,  in  hues  of  which 
its  lusty  prime  had  been  unconscious;  wherein  the  practical 
and  real  world,  in  which  we  live  and  have  our  being,  had  al¬ 
ready  begun  to  encroach  upon  that  ideal  and  imaginative  world, 
which  was  as  tangible  to  our  ancestors,  as  theirs  seems  strange 
to  us,  and  ours  would  seem  to  them,  could  they  be  brought 
to  comprehend  it. 

The  last  spirit  of  the  crusades  was  still  blazing  bright,  on 
the  fertile  valleys  of  Granada;  gonfanons  and  panoplies  of 
burnished  mail,  surcoats  of  knightly  arms,  turbans  and  orien¬ 
tal  draperies  were  still  flashing  and  floating,  under  the  azure 
skies  of  Spain,  through  the  deep  passes  of  the  Alpuxarras ; 
“  the  gentle  river”  was  still  running  red  with  mingled  streams 
of  infidel  and  Christian  gore,  and  the  Atabals,  the  Cymbals, 
and  the  Lelilies  of  the  Moslemin  were  ringing  among  the 
trumpets  and  the  war-cries  of  St.  Jago,  while  the  caravels 
were  fitting  in  the  port  of  Palos,  which  were  to  open  to  the 
old  world  the  knowledge  of  the  new,  and  to  bring  about 
changes  yet  stranger  and  more  potent  in  the  manners  and 
morals  of  men,  and  in  the  destinies  of  nations,  than  in  the  re¬ 
gions  of  science,  and  the  extent  of  the  known  universe. 

While  this  interminable  domestic  war  was  in  process  — 
which  resulted  in  the  expulsion  of  the  Moorish  race  from  their 
last  stronghold  on  European  soil,  and  which,  much  as  it  has 


264 


COLUMBUS  IN  THE  CAMP. 


been  accused  for  impolicy  by  historians  who  have  not  hesita 
ted  to  ascribe  to  it,  as  one  of  the  prime  causes,  the  ensuing  de¬ 
cline  and  ultimate  decadency  of  the  Peninsula,  was  clearly  ne¬ 
cessary  to  Spain,  as  a  homogeneous  nationality  and  govern¬ 
ment — uuweariedly  did  the  enthusiastic  aud  indomitable  nav¬ 
igator  petition  the  queen,  who,  it  would  seem,  from  the  begin¬ 
ning  appreciated  his  daring  intellect,  his  untiring  perseverance, 
and  the  far-reaching  vision  of  his  instructed  mind,  but  in  truth 
lacked  the  means  to  forward  him ;  for  the  scanty  aid,  which 
he  promised  would  suffice  him  to  give  a  new  world  to  Castille 
and  Leon,  was  not  attainable  during  the  continuance  of  that 
exhausting  struggle. 

A  superabundance  of  absurdity  has  been  written,  and  high- 
sounding  indiguation  wasted,  on  the  narrow-mindedness  and 
malice— heaven  save  the  mark!— of  those,  who  failed  immedi¬ 
ately  to  fall  in  with  the  views  and  to  appreciate  the  arguments 
of  Columbus,  which  naturally  appeared  to  them  visionary  in 
the  extreme ;  which  were  contrary  to  all  experience,  to  all 
the  knowledge  of  past  ages,  and,  as  by  many  it  was  constantly 
asserted,  to  the  principles  of  the  Christian  religion.  The  same 
opposition  has  been  offered,  under  nearly  the  same  forms, 
though  without  ascription  by  the  writers  of  the  day  to  either 
envy,  hatred,  malice,  or  any  other  kind  of  uucharitableness,  to 
every  great  and  marvellous  discovery  of  modern  days;  to  illu¬ 
mination  of  the  world  by  gas ;  to  the  navigation  of  the  ocean 
by  steam  ;  to  the  transmission  of  intelligence  by  magnetism  ; 
to  every  new  truth  of  science ;  and  there  are,  at  this  moment, 
in  which  I  write,  hundreds  of  Lutheran,  Calvinist,  Methodist, 
Baptist  divines,  who  are  neither  envious  nor  malicious,  nor,  in 
other  matters,  ignorant,  who  condemn  the  geological  discov¬ 
eries  of  Buckland,  Lyell,  Cuvier,  and  Agassiz,  as  impious  and 


SCHEMES  OF  COLUMBUS. 


2G5 


contrary  to  revealed  religion,  with  equal  intolerance  to  that 
displayed  by  Romish  inquisitors  toward  the  world-seeking 
navigator,  and  for  the  very  same  cause;  that,  in  both  cases,  the 
teachings  of  the  philosopher  are  at  variance  with  what  the  the- 
ologist  conceives  to  be  the  only  true  interpretation,  because  it 
is  his  own  interpretation,  of  some  obscure  passage  in  the  Old 
Testament,  at  the  meaning  of  which  he  only  arrives,  at  all, 
through  the  medium  of  a  translation  from  a  dead  language  into 
a  foreign  tongue. 

It  is  ascertained,  at  this  day,  beyond  a  peradventure,  that 
Columbus  had  not  merely  surmised,  as  a  deduction  from 
given  data,  the  existence  of  a  new,  transatlantic  world ;  but 
that  he  knew  it,  as  a  fact,  from  the  perusal  of  the  journals  and 
inspection  of  the  charts  of  the  Norse  prediscoverers,  which  he 
had  certainly  seen  in  the  royal  library  of  Iceland— where  they 
are  preserved  to  this  time-during  a  visit,  which  he  is  known 
to  have  made  to  that  island.  It  is  even  doubtful,  whether  ho 
had  conceived  any  idea  of  reaching  the  western  shores  of  India, 
for  such  to  the  end  he  believed  the  newly  discovered  lands  to 
be,  by  means  of  circumnavigation,  until  after  he  had  become 
acquainted  with  the  success,  which  the  Norse  rovers  had  en¬ 
countered,  on  a  western  course ;  although — granted  the  world’s 
rotundity  —  to  perceive  the  feasibility  of  such  a  plan  would 
seem  to  argue  no  preternatural  acumen,  though  to  carry  it 
out,  to  accomplishment,  might  demand  almost  superhuman 
fortitude,  energy,  perseverance,  and  the  immutable  will  of  a 
very  hero. 

As  Columbus  did  not  choose  to  reveal  the  positive  knowl 
edge,  he  had  acquired,  of  the  possibility  of  reaching  a  vast 
western  land,  far  beyond  farthest  Thyle,  by  steering  out  into 
the  seemingly  illimitable  ocean,  but  persisted  in  resting  his 

L 


2GG 


PROGRESS  OF  DISCOVERT. 


convictions,  only  on  vague  speculations,  and  on  reasonings, 
which  will  1  jot  bear  the  test  of  reason,  as  to  the  necessity  of 
an  existing  continent  in  the  west,  in  order  to  counterbalance 
the  preponderance  of  land  in  the  eastern  hemisphere,  and  so 
to  preserve  the  equilibrium  of  the  globe,  it  appears  to  me  far 
more  astonishing  that  he  did  ultimately,  than  that  he  did  not 
earlier,  persuade  any  potentate  of  that  day  to  adopt  his  theo¬ 
ries,  to  such  an  extent  as  to  furnish  ships,  mariners,  and  money, 
and  that  when  each  of  the  three  was  worth  many  multiples 
of  its  present  value,  for  the  prosecution  of  a  plan  of  dis¬ 
covery  so  wild,  and  with  a  prospect  of  remuneration  so  re¬ 
mote  and  slender. 

It  does  not,  moreover,  appear  to  me  —  although  the  solid 
sanction  of  the  universities,  always  the  most  slowly  moving, 
and  most  difficult  to  be  convinced,  of  bodies,  although  the  au¬ 
thority  of  the  ponderous  doctors  of  Salamanca  and  the  fanati¬ 
cal  fathers  of  the  order  of  Jesus  could  not  be  readily  won  over 
to  the  new  theories — that,  one  of  the  shrewd,  practical,  politic 
princes,  men  of  the  world,  and  statesmen,  to  whom  he  ap¬ 
plied,  ever  entertained  any  strong  doubt  of  the  truth  of  the 
chart-maker’s  speculations but  that  they  did,  all,  shrewdly 
doubt  the  profitable  character  of  the  proposed  enterprise,  and 
the  policy  of  their  embarking  suddenly  in  so  extraordinary  an 
adventure,  is  as  certain,  as  it  was  natural  and  wise  in  them  to 
do  so. 

John  II.  of  Portugal,  who,  by  the  discovery  of  the  passage 
by  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  the  eastern  Indies,  of  which  he 
was  even  then  in  pursuit,  shortly  afterward  seized  the  initia¬ 
tive  and  hoped  to  acquire  a  monopoly,  in  the  trade  of  spice, 
of  precious  gems  and  gold,  from  the  rich  regions  of  the  Ori¬ 
ent,  reeded  not,  nor  had  the  desire,  to  open  a  fresh  channel, 


HENRY  VII. 


2G7 


whether  to  the  same  or  to  some  other  mart  of  tropical  wealth, 
when  to  do  so  would  but  create  a  rivalry,  to  the  detriment  of 
his  own  subject. 

Henry  VII.  of  England,  the  sagest,  most  prudent,  most  par¬ 
simonious,  and,  withal,  most  grasping  monarch  of  his  day, 
though  he  governed  a  people,  who  had  hitherto  displayed  little 
genius  for  maritime,  and  scarcely  more  for  commercial,  enter¬ 
prise,  yet  seriously  inclined  his  ear  to  the  enthusiastic  elo 
quence  of  the  Genoese  mariner.  He  became,  but  a  few  years 
later,  the  ardent  patron  and  promoter  of  transatlantic  discov 
ery,  and  it  was  under  his  auspices,  if  not  at  his  charges,  that 
the  Cabots,  a  year  at  least  before  Columbus  saw  the  mainland 
of  America,  discovered  New  Foundland  and  the  coasts  of  the 
northern  British  provinces,  thus  being  the  first  to  attract  the 
English  mind  to  that  career  of  north-western  enterprise,  from 
which  it  has  never  since  been  diverted  ;  at  this  time,  however, 
he  was  too  vitally  occupied  in  securing  the  crown,  he  had  oc¬ 
cupied,  to  a  dynasty  of  his  own  creation,  and  in  subduing  do¬ 
mestic  insurrection  aided  by  foreign  influence,  to  be  enabled 
to  spare  either  time  or  moneys  on  an  adventure,  which,  how 
magnificent  soever,  afforded  little  present  prospect  either  of 
profit  or  of  power,  which  were  necessary  alike  to  his  ambition 
and  to  the  safety  of  his  line. 

The  causes  for  delay,  on  the  part  of  Isabella,  are  so  evident, 
while  an  internecine  war  was  raging  on  the  frontier  of  her  own 
dominions,  with  a  race,  which  must  be  extirpated  or  expelled — 
since  it  never  could  be  rendered  subordinate  to  Spanish  or 
Christian  rule — if  Spain  was  ever  to  be  made  one  kingdom,  in¬ 
cluded  by  its  natural  boundaries,  that  it  is  only  wonderful  to 
me,  how  she  ever  was  induced  and  enabled  to  furnish  forth  the 


208 


FALSE  STYLE  OF  MEMOIR  WRITING. 


means,  scanty  as  they  were,  with  which  Columhus  proceeded 
on  his  voyage  of  discovery. 

After  eight  years,  however,  of  incessant  solicitation,  the 
good  queen  was  able  to  do  what  she  had  earnestly  desired  to  do, 
years  before ;  and,  on  the  third  of  August,  1492,  the  world- 
finder  set  sail,  with  three  small  vessels,  from  the  port  of  Palos, 
in  Seville,  the  year  following  the  final  conquest  of  Granada, 
and  the  incorporation  of  the  whole  territory,  between  the  Py¬ 
renees,  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  the  Atlantic  ocean,  and  the  Mediter¬ 
ranean  sea,  the  small  kingdom  of  Portugal  on  the  western 
shore  alone  excepted,  into  one  state,  which  soon  became  from 
a  third  rate,  a  first  rate  power  among  the  nations. 

?  I  am  not  about  to  fall  into  an  error,  common  to  many  bril¬ 
liant  and  speculative  writers ;  that  of  assuming  the  probabil¬ 
ity,  because  she  was  in  being  at  the  time,  that  the  child  Kath¬ 
arine  had  any  agency  whatever  in  any  of  the  great  movements, 
which  were  going  on  around  her ;  much  less  of  imagining  that 
her  childish  fancy  might  have  been  touched  by  the  eloquence 
and  sublime  aspect  of  the  pilgrim  navigator,  or  that  her  child¬ 
ish  endearments  might  have  had  their  effect  in  bringing  her 
mother  to  grant  the  mariner’s  supplication.  Such,  however,  is 
too  much,  and  too  often,  the  mode  of  writing  history,  adopted 
by  the  memoir  compilers  of  to-day,  who,  writing  often  to  gain 
the  mere  popularity  of  the  minute,  for  the  most  part  think  it 
needful  to  take  a  popular  view  of  the  subject ;  and,  true  or  un¬ 
true,  possible  or  impossible,  are  ever  on  the  qui  vive  to  pro¬ 
duce  something  in  favor  of  the  hero,  or  heroine — of  whom  they 
almost  invariably  constitute  themselves  mere  partizan  defend¬ 
ers — which  no  one  ever  heard  of,  or  suspected,  before.  To  such 
an  extent,  is  this  mischievous  and  foolish  partizanship  some¬ 
times  carried,  that  it  leads  the  writers  into  the  defence  of  all 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  HER  CHILDHOOD. 


269 


sorts  of  crimes  and  enormities,  and  deprives  their  works  of 
any  claim  to  authenticity;  and  so  flagrant  does  this  sometimes 
become,  as  to  be  in  the  end  ludicrous,  as  well  as  provoking ; 
as,  for  instance,  where  Miss  Strickland,  in  her  laborious  and, 
in  other  respects,  valuable  lives  of  the  queens  of  England,  takes 
every  sovereign  in  succession,  so  soon  as  she  begins  to  deal 
with  her  as  a  sovereign,  under  her  immediate  and  especial  pro¬ 
tection,  often  totally  reversing  the  verdict  she  has  rendered,  a 
few  pages  above,  in  considering  her  relations  toward  her  pred¬ 
ecessor,  while  herself  a  private  personage. 

I  do  mean,  however,  to  show  that  the  mind  of  an  intelligent 
girl  of  ten  years,  having  such  scenes  constantly  passing  before 
her  eyes,  such  conversations  continually  held  within  her  hear¬ 
ing,  brought  up  and  educated,  as  we  know  Katharine  to  have 
been,  by  such  a  mother,  so  affectionate,  so  pious,  so  prudent, 
as  we  see  Isabella  to  have  been,  must  have  taken  a  deep  color¬ 
ing  from  the  vastness  of  the  events,  of  which  she  was  herself 
a  witness  and  in  some  degree  a  part.  Her  favorite  device  of 
the  pomegranate,  which  she  bore,  throughout  her  life,  in  a 
sterner  and  bleaker  clime,  and  in  darker  days,  than  those 
which  left  their  imprint  on  her  childhood,  speaks  strongly  of 
the  impression  made  upon  her  by  the  orange  groves  and  myr¬ 
tle  gardens,  the  silvery  waters  and  the  umbrageous  woodlands 
of  the  beautiful  Granada.  Doubtless,  she  saw  the  rearguard 
of  the  Moorish  squadrons  defiling  through  the  steep  streets  of 
the  Saracenic  city,  while  weak  Boabdil  wept,  and  his  man- 
hearted  mother  chid  the  tears,  which  bewailed  an  empire  his 
hand  had  lacked  the  power  to  defend.  Doubtless,  she  mar¬ 
velled  in  her  girlish  wonder  at  the  rare,  the  inimitable  splen¬ 
dors  of  the  exquisite  Alhambra,  and  as  she  tasted  the  diamond 
waters  that  sparkled  from  the  fount  of  lions,  and  murmured 


270 


KATHARINE  IN  HER  NATIVE  RAND. 


with  a  cooling  freshness  through  the  hall  of  kings,  felt,  min 
gling  with  triumphant  admiration,  some  touch  of  sympathy 
for  those,  though  of  a  hostile  race  and  hated  creed,  whom  she 
had  seen  expelled  forever,  by  her  mother’s  arms,  from  that, 
their  earthly  paradise.  Doubtless,  she  had  heard  all  the  pitiful, 
all  the  marvellous  tales  of  the  wild  mariner,  whom  men 
deemed  mad,  while  he  was  wandering  on  foot,  begging  a  cup 
of  water  for  his  faiuting  fellow-journeyer,  from  cottage  door  to 
convent  gate,  yet  promising,  while  he  lacked  bread  for  his  own 
need,  the  wealth  of  undiscovered  realms  to  the  mightiest  of 
monarchs — had  heard  of  him,  when  Ills  eloquence  convinced 
councillors  and  cardinals,  and  won  Ferdinaud  and  Isabella  to 
speed  him  on  his  marvellous  adventure  —  had  heard  of  him, 
when  he  sailed,  tempting  the  terrors  of  the  mighty  deep,  in 
those  three  slender  barques,  scarce  equal  to  the  long-boats  of 
a  modern  three-decker.  Doubtless,  she  heard  the  shouts  and 
reverberated  peals  of  ordnance,  as  they  hailed  the  return,  no 
longer  of  the  mad  adventurer,  but  of  the  world-discoverer,  of 
the  lord  admiral  of  the  ocean  sea,  of  the  governor  of  that  New 
Spain  in  the  farthest  west,  the  conquest  of  which  was  to  ren¬ 
der,  before  her  own  eyes  should  be  closed  in  the  welcome 
slumbers  of  the  grave,  her  native  land,  the  Old  Spain,  which 
she  was  so  soon  to  leave  forever,  the  wealthiest,  the  mightiest, 
the  most  puissant  of  all  European  kingdoms;  and  her  own,  yet 
unborn,  nephew,  Charles,  the  stateliest  and  most  powerful  of 
earthly  monarchs. 

She  lived  to  see,  even  before  she  left  the  sunny  shores  of 
her  beloved  Spain  for  that  northern  isle,  the  hospitality  of 
which  she  was  destined  to  find  as  cold  to  her  as  the  rigor 
of  its  northern  winters,  the  first  influx  of  that  entering  tide 
of  gold,  which,  while  it  filled  the  treasuries  with  stores  that  ap- 


UNPRECEDENTED  GROWTH  OF  SPAIN. 


271 


peared  inexnaustible,  corrupted  the  life-blood  of  the  land,  sap¬ 
ped  the  stern  virtues  of  its  haughty  aristocracy,  and,  in  the 
end,  undermined  all  its  foundations,  and  left  it  the  baseless  and 
downfallen  ruin,  which  we  gaze  on,  with  less  of  pity  than  con¬ 
tempt,  in  the  nineteenth  century. 

This  she  saw  not,  however,  nor  could  in  anywise  foresee,  un¬ 
less  it  had  been  by  aid  of  actual  inspiration.  It  was  the  glori¬ 
ous  and  majestic  aspect  of  a  rising,  not  a  falling,  empire,  that 
filled  her  youthful  soul  with  visions  of  majesty,  and  fed  her  as¬ 
pirations  to  the  height  of  human  dignity.  Not  so  rapid  is 
even  the  vaunted  growth  of  the  United  States,  from  the  imbe- 
cillity  of  childhood  to  the  colossal  might  of  immature  man¬ 
hood,  as  were  the  strides  by  which  Spain  burst,  within  a  life¬ 
time,  from  being  a  disjointed  region  of  secondary,  uncon¬ 
nected  kingdoms,  to  be  greatest,  wealthiest,  strongest,  empire, 
since  Rome’s  Ccesars  fixed  the  imperial  eagles  high  above  the 
Palatine. 

The  union  of  Castille  and  Leon  with  Arragon  and  Catalonia, 
the  conquest  of  the  Moorish  kingdom  of  Granada,  the  acquisi¬ 
tion  of  auriferous  America,  mainland  and  island,  came,  one  and 
all,  fast  following  consequences,  from  the  auspicious  marriage 
of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  From  that  of  their  daughter  Jo¬ 
anna  with  Philip,  heir  of  Maximilian  and  Mary  of  Burgundv, 
the  whole  of  the  rich  Netherlands,  and  of  that  splendid  duchy, 
comprising  nearly  a  third  part  of  what  is  now  the  empire  of 
the  French,  was  added  to  Spain  in  the  succession  of  their  son 
Charles,  the  first  king  of  the  Austrian  house,  to  that  throne,  on 
the  demise  of  his  grandfather,  Ferdinand. 

Born  of  such  parents,  sprung  from  such  a  land,  exhibiting 
from  an  early  age  the  talents  which  she  inherited  from  her 
mother,  with  all  that  mother’s  dignity,  and  piety,  and  pm 


V 

272  CHARACTER  OF  KATHARINE. 

dence,  but  without  her  coldness,  her  austerity,  her  fanaticism, 
or  her  fierce  zeal,  leading  her  even  to  the  length  of  persecution, 
gloriously  endowed  with  the  dark-glowing,  stately,  superb 
beauty  of  her  native  land,  who  should  predict  for  any  one  of 
earthly  mould  a  happier  or  grander  future  than  for  young 
Catalina  —  for  so  she  was  christened,  although  the  history  of 
the  land,  in  which  it  was  hers  to  live  and  die,  has  Anglicized 
her  into  Katharine — the  beautiful  infanta  of  her  paternal  Arra- 
gon?  Nor  was  the  marriage  of  this  highly  favored  princess 
less  promising  of  happiness  than  was  her  birth  august,  and  the 
circumstances  of  her  early  youth  auspicious. 

Ilenry  VII.,  the  usurping  pretender  of  the  house  of  Lancas¬ 
ter,  who,  with  less  claims  of  blood  than  any  monarch,  who  ever 
ascended  that  splendid  throne,  having  obtained  possession  of 
the  crown  of  England,  vacant  by  the  death  of  Richard,  that 
tyrant,  veritably  “  bloody-sceptered,”  and  secured  it  by  his  mar¬ 
riage  with  Elizabeth,  the  beautiful  “  Pale  Rose  of  York,”  and 
heiress  of  that  house  and  its  rightful  claim  to  the  monarchy,  sat 
in  the  place  of  his  unjust  dominion,  more  firmly,  perhaps,  than 
any  king  in  Europe ;  assuredly  wielded  his  sceptre  more  des¬ 
potically,  as  less  checked  by  the  arrogant  feudal  nobility 
which,  in  other  kingdoms,  as  in  past  years  they  had  done  ia 
England,  before  they  were  decimated,  and  their  strength  was 
well  nigh  broken,  in  the  bloody  wars  of  the  Roses,  still  divi 
ded  the  power  with  the  monarch,  and  prevented  the  absorp¬ 
tion  of  the  whole  puissance  of  the  state  by  the  crown.  It  is  a 
strange  trait  of  character,  that  this  cold,  hard-hearted,  selfish, 
practical,  iron-minded  man,  whom  of  all  others  one  would  the 
least  have  suspected  of  anything  like  imaginative,  much  less 
poetical,  tendencies,  was  yet  a  dreamer,  a  believer  and  enthu¬ 
siastic  student  in  the  old  legendary  lore  of  that  wild  and  mystic 


PRINCE  ARTHUR  OF  WALES. 


land  of  Wales,  and  that  yet  wilder  reign  of  Cymric  Brittany, 
with  its  vast  stormy  heaths,  its  bardic  monuments,  its  crom¬ 
lechs,  its  monoliths,  its  huge  stone  avenues  and  circles,  its  Car- 
nak,  vaster  than  Stonehenge,  its  identical  superstitions,  and  al¬ 
most  identical  language. 

Himself  of  the  Welsh  blood  of  the  Tudors,  on  the  father’s 
side,  he  had  resided  much  among  the  mountains  of  North 
Wales;  he  had  landed  in  that  country,  at  Milford  Haven,  when 
he  came  in  his  chivalrous  and  daring  enterprise  against  the 
bloody  Richard,  and  he  constantly  sought  to  identify  himself 
with  the  people,  loyal,  brave,  and  devoted  to  their  hereditary 
chiefs,  of  that  ancient  principality,  in  which  he  numbered  many 
of  his  most  resolute  adherents.  Ilis  eldest  son,  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  born  at  Winchester,  while  the  king,  his  father,  was 
hunting  in  the  New  Forest,  on  the  20th  of  September,  1486 
was  named  Arthur,  after  the  great  king  of  the  Cymri,  whom 
many  of  his  people  believed,  then,  and  perhaps  still  believe  te 
this  very  day,  to  survive,  though  plunged  in  a  magic  stupor, 
in  the  enchanted  shades  of  Ynys  Avallon,  the  undisccrnabla 
bardic  sanctuary  and  admeasured  centre  of  the  island. 

To  this  young  prince,  who  was  handsome  of  person,  excel¬ 
lent  of  disposition,  and  eminently  learned,  was  the  princess  be¬ 
trothed,  while  she  was  yet  but  a  child,  sporting  among  the  ex¬ 
quisite  scenery  of  the  Alhambra,  and  in  the  fairy  halls  of  the 
Generaliffe,  wherein  her  youth  was  spent,  happily  and  grace¬ 
fully,  amid  the  dolce  far  niente  of  that  soft,  southern  climate 
of  Granada,  which  her  mother  made  her  constant  abode,  no 
less  than  the  seat  of  her  royalty,  after  the  expulsion — from  its 
Saracenic  domes  and  oriental  minarets,  its  thickets  of  figs  and 
jessamine  and  orange  and  pomegranate,  its  towe'ing  palms, 
L*  18 


274 


KATHARINE  EMBARKS  FOR  ENGLAND. 


its  shadowy  cork-woods,  and  the  blue  lapse  of  its  vocal  waters — 
of  its  unfortunate  Moorish  lords. 

At  the  age  of  four,  we  first  find  Catalina  present  at  the  mar¬ 
riage  of  her  elder  sister,  Isabel,  with  Don  Juan,*  or,  as  he  is 
otherwise  termed,  Don  Alphonso,  the  heir  of  Portugal.  It  is 
remarkable,  in  reference  to  the  question  which  subsequently 
arose  with  regard  to  Katharine’s  marriage  with  Henry,  that, 
after  the  death  of  Alphonso,  Isabel  was  wedded  to  Manuel, 
king  of  Portugal,  who  was  within  the  prohibited  degrees  with 
her  first  husband,  and  that  after  Isabel’s  decease,  her  third  sis¬ 
ter,  Mary,  became  the  wife  of  the  same  Manuel,  her  sister’s 
widower,  so  little,  at  that  time,  seems  to  have  been  the  objec¬ 
tion  made  to  marriages  with  the  relicts  of  deceased  brothers 
and  sisters.  Joanna,  the  second  sister,  was  married  to  Philip 
of  Burgundy,  son  of  Maximilian,  and  bore  to  him  Charles,  af¬ 
terward  the  magnificent  rival  of  Francis  and  Henry. 

So  soon  as  Arthur  completed  his  fifteenth  year,  Katharine 
being  just  one  year  older  than  her  youthful  bridegroom,  the 
marriage,  which  had  been  definitely  arranged  in  1496,  and 
celebrated  by  proxy  in  the  chapel  of  the  prince’s  manor-house 
at  Bewdly,  the  Spanish  ambassador  standing  proxy  for  the  in¬ 
fanta,  was  brought  to  pass  in  earnest. 

On  the  seventeenth  day  of  August,  1501,  the  princess  em¬ 
barked  at  Corunna,  but-as  if  the  winds  and  waves  themselves, 
things  inanimate,  and  lying  under  the  ban  of  poetry,  as  above 
all  else  deaf  and  pitiless  to  humanity,  were  opposed  to  her  de¬ 
parture  for  that  misty  and  inclement  isle,  wherein  her  future 
fates  were  to  be  as  cold  and  ungenial  as  the  climate, — a  fierce 
storm,  during  which  she  suffered  from  sea  sickness  grievously, 

♦Miss  Strickland  calls  Lira  “Don  Jnan,  tbe  heir  of  Portugal.”  Lord  Herbert  of 
Cherbury — “Alphonso,  prince  of  Portugal.” 


SPANISH  ETIQUETTE. 


275 


drove  her  back  upon  the  coasts  of  old  Castillo ;  but  a  second 
attempt,  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  the  following  month,  was  more 
successful ;  and,  on  the  second  of  October,  she  landed  at 
Plymouth,  where  she  was  received  with  much  pomp  and 
splendor — all  the  population  of  the  country  flocking  in  to  do 
her  honor,  and  entertaining  her  with  west-country  sports  and 
rural  pastimes — by  the  Lord  Brook,  steward  of  the  royal  pal¬ 
ace,  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  and  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  who  were 
especially  deputed  to  wait  upon  her. 

Tlie  royal  progress  was  so  slow  as  to  savor  more  of  Spanish 
etiquette,  than  of  the  frankness  which  is  attributed  to  English 
hospitality.  The  roads  were  execrable  ;  the  weather  was  such 
as  may  be  understood  by  those  who  know  what  is  English 
weather  in  November,  the  bleakest,  saddest,  stormiest  month 
of  the  year ;  the  processions  of  the  princess,  inland,  and  of  her 
royal  bridegroom,  seaward,  were  made  on  horseback,  and  it 
would  seem  that  they  never  exceeded  a  foot’s  pace ;  for  it  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  been  the  third  or  fourth  day  after  Katharine’s 
departure  from  Plymouth,  before  the  royal  parties  met  on  the 
open  downs,  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  and  pelting  storm,  not  far 
from  the  town  of  Dogmersfield,  where  some  circumstances  oc¬ 
curred  sufficiently  curious  to  be  worthy  of  remark.  At  this 
period,  Spanish  etiquette,  always  rigid  and  formal  in  the  ex¬ 
treme,  had  caught,  from  long  habitude  to  Moorish  customs 
and  ideas,  an  ultraism,  in  regard  to  the  fair  sex,  amounting  al¬ 
most  to  the  oriental  usages  of  female  sequestration  ;  and  it 
seems  that  the  high  Spanish  dignitaries,  to  whose  care  the  in¬ 
fanta  was  committed,  had  received  positive  regulations  as  to 
her  intercourse,  previous  to  marriage,  even  with  her  father  in¬ 
law  and  husband,  that  were  to  be,  which,  like  the  laws  of  the 


27G 


THE  COUNCIL  ON  THE  HAMPSHIRE  DOWNS. 


Medes  and  Persians,  were  to  be  immutable  under  whatever 
mutation  of  circumstances. 

Under  no  possible  contingency,  was  the  young  infanta  to  be 
looked  upon  by  the  profane  eyes  of  a  male  animal,  until  she 
should  stand  before  the  altar  ;  when,  and  when  only,  her  veil 
was  to  be  raised,  and  the  charms  of  the  bride  exhibited  to  the 
bridegroom,  which  he  was  not  so  much  as  to  behold,  until  the 
indissoluble  knot  should  be  tied. 

Ilenry  VII.  was  himself  a  man  of  forms  and  ceremonials, 
cold,  hard,  close-handed,  and  close-hearted ;  but,  whether,  as 
Miss  Strickland  has  it,  his  curiosity*was  thoroughly  aroused 
by  the  prohibition,  or,  as  I  presume,  he  did  not  choose  to  re¬ 
ceive  dictation  in  his  own  country,  he  would  not  hear  of  the 
restriction.  A  council  was  called,  on  the  bleak  Hampshire 
downs — one  would  like  to  have  seen  that  council,  at  nightfall, 
in  the  gray,  ghostly  mist  of  a  November  evening,  amid  the 
pelting  rain,  and  the  cutting  breath  of  the  cold  north-easter, 
without  so  much  as  a  tree  or  a  hedgerow  to  shield  them  from 
the  bitter  rain  storm  —  the  starched,  grim-visaged,  whiskered, 
"Spanish  grandees,  wrapped  in  their  long  capas,  with  their  som¬ 
breros  slouched  over  their  brows,  shivering  on  the  backs  of 
their  Andalusian  coursers,  yet  holding  out  in  high  debate 
against  the  mere  idea  of  such  a  breach  of  all  Iberian  proprieties, 
as  the  suffering  a  Spanish  maiden  to  be  shown  unveiled  to  the 
eyes  of  her  nearest  future  relatives;  while  Henry,  in  his  blunt 
\  English  fashion,  backed  by  the  opinion  of  his  sturdy  lords, 
l  -who  were  probably  cursing  the  stilted  nonsense  of  the  dons, 
'  from  the  depths  of  their  Saxon  souls,  as  they  thought  of  the 
barons  of  beef,  the  haunches  of  venison,  and  the  giggots  of 
mutton,  which  were  growing  cold  in  the  lodging,  prepared  for 
the  royal  cavalcade,  at  Dogmei-sfield,  insisted  that  since  “  the 


henry’s  bluntness. 


277 


Spanish  infanta  was  now  in  the  heart  of  the  realm,  of  which 
King  Ilenry  was  master,  he  might  look  at  her  if  he  liked.” 
And,  as  it  seems,  that  emphatically  “he  did  like  ;  ”  so  it  was 
decided  ;  and,  accordingly,  leaving  his  son  in  the  storm  on  the 
downs,  he  rode  on  to  Dogmersfield,  whither  the  princess  and 
her  ladies  had  very  sensibly  got  themselves  out  of  the  rain, 
some  three  hours,  or  so,  before.  But,  even  so,  the  matter 
was  not  to  end ;  for  a  Spanish  count,  an  archbishop,  and  a 
bishop  opposed  the  king’s  entrance  to  the  apartments  of  his 
fair  daughter-in-law,  saying  that  “  the  lady  infanta  had  retired 
to  her  chamber.” 

But  Henry  VII.,  cold,  as  he  was  selfish  and  hard  of  heart, 
had  too  much  British  blood — none  the  coolest  when  once  fairly 
aroused,  at  bottom — to  brook  the  Spanish  formulas ;  nor  was 
the  man,  who  had  met  the  bloody  boar  of  York,  front  to  front, 
at  Bosworth,  precisely  the  person  to  be  turned  from  his  pur¬ 
pose  by  a  Spanish  count,  even  if  he  were  supported  by  an  arch¬ 
bishop  and  a  bishop,  as  his  assessors.  So  he  swore  a  lusty 
oath,  that,  “  if  she  were  even  in  her  bed,  he  meant  to  see  and 
speak  to  her,  for  that  was  his  mind,  and  the  whole  intent  of 
his  coming.”  Wherefore,  seeing  that  he  was  a  man  some¬ 
what  apt  to  have  the  whole  intents  of  his  mind  satisfied,  the 
infanta,  who  really  had  gone  to  bed,  being,  probably,  tho¬ 
roughly  tired  and  drenched  to  the  skin,  had  no  choice  for  it, 
out  to  get  up  again,  dress  herself,  and  receive  the  visit  of  her 
father-in-law  in  futuro.  He,  being  well  pleased  with  her  ap¬ 
pearance,  sent  for  his  son  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain,  retired  to 
change  his  own  wet  riding  suit,  and  then  proceeded  to  intro¬ 
duce  the  prince  to  the  bride  elect.  Thereafter,  they  parted, 
after  pledging  their  troth  in  person,  the  king  going  with  his  son 
and  his  hungry  lords  to  the  long  desired  supper,  and  the  prin 


278 


Katharine's  first  marriage. 


cess  not,  as  one  would  have  expected,  going  back  again  to  bed  , 
for,  we  find  that  after  the  jolly  evening  meal  was  over,  at 
which  one  can  well  imagine  how  the  stout  English  peers  laughed 
and  roared  among  their  cups,  over  the  discomfiture  of  the 
pompous  dons,  she  received  her  betrothed  lover  and  his  hither 
in  her  own  apartments,  “  when  she  and  her  ladies  called  for 
their  minstrels,  and  with  right  goodly  behavior  and  manner  so¬ 
laced  themselves  with  dancing.”  The  prince,  it  seems,  whether 
that  he  did  not  understand  the  Spanish  dances,  or  that  it  was 
contrary  to  the  rules  of  etiquette,  did  not  mingle  with  his  lady 
love  and  her  damsels  in  the  dance,  but,  when  his  tu  n  came, 
“  in  like  demeanor  took  the  Lady  Guilford,”  governess  to  his 
sister  Mary,  afterward  Queen  of  France  and  Duchess  of  Suf¬ 
folk,  “  and  danced  right  pleasantly  and  honorably.” 

On  the  following  day,  Katharine  arrived  at  Chertsey,  where 
she  was  lodged  in  the  royal  palace  at  that  place ;  thence,  on  the 
eighth  of  November,  she  came  to  Kingston  on  Thames,  where 
she  was  met  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  Earl  of  Kent, 
and  the  Abbot  of  Bury,  who,  on  the  next  morning,  escorted 
her  with  a  splendid  train  to  her  own  lodging,  in  Kenningtou 
palace,  close  to  Lambeth,  which  had  been  duly  prepared  for 
her  reception. 

On  the  twelfth  of  November,  being  the  day  of  Saint  Kath¬ 
arine,  her  patroness,  chosen  as  such  in  her  honor,  she  made  her 
solemn  entrance  by  London  bridge,  whence  she  was  conducted 
in  great  pomp  to  St.  Paul’s,  the  streets  crowded  with  people 
in  holiday  garbs,  the  conduits  running  all  day  long  with  Gas¬ 
con  wine,  instead  of  water,  and  the  nobility  vieing  with  each 
other  in  the  lavish  expense  of  bravery  and  decoration,  whereby 
to  testify  their  sense  of  the  occasion.  On  that  night,  as  on  that, 
also,  which  followed  the  wedding,  she  was  lodged  in  the  palace 


HER  MARRIED  LIFE  AT  LUDLOW. 


279 


of  the  Bishc  p  of  London,  adjoining  the  cathedral,  in  which  the 
ceremonial  was  performed,  on  the  feast  of  St.  Erkenwald,  being 
November  14,  1501,  by  which  she  became  Princess  of  Wales, 
and  wife  to  the  heir  apparent  of  the  British  throne. 

The  young  Duke  of  York,  afterward  Henry  VIII.  and  her 
second  husband,  conducted  her  to  the  altar,  himself  attired,  as 
was  the  bridegroom,  his  brother,  in  white  satin ;  the  princess 
Cecily  bore  her  train,  attended  by  a  hundred  ladies  of  rank  ; 
the  service  was  performed  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
assisted  by  nineteen  bishops  and  mitred  abbots ;  and  the  king, 
the  queen,  Elizabeth  of  York,  and  the  king’s  mother,  the  ven¬ 
erable  Countess  of  Richmond,  witnessed  the  proceedings  from 
a  latticed  box,  which  had  been  prepared  for  their  reception, 
near  to  an  elevated  stage,  or  mount,  as  it  is  called,  in  the  cen¬ 
tre  of  the  church,  whereon  the  principal  persons  stood,  during 
the  celebration  of  the  nuptials.  After  the  wedding,  the  prince 
and  princess  were  sumptuously  feasted  in  the  episcopal  palace, 
in  St.  Paul’s  church-yard ;  and  were  there  bedded,  according  to 
the  ceremonial  and  usage  of  the  day,  the  bed  being  solemnly 
blessed,  in  the  presence  of  a  multitude  of  noble  lords  and  la¬ 
dies,  who  were  called  upon  many  years  afterward  to  testify  to 
what  they  had  seen  on  that  night,  in  regard  to  the  cohabita¬ 
tion  of  the  parties  as  man  and  wife. 

And  it  is  w’ell  here  to  state,  in  a  word,  that  it  was  proved 
on  oath,  by  the  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  the  Lord  and  Lady 
Fitzwater,  and  other  witnesses,  who  had  ample  means  of  know¬ 
ing  the  fact,  that  the  young  couple  slept  together  on  the  night 
of  their  marriage,  at  the  bishop’s  palace,  and  for  five  or  six 
nights  subsequently;  and  that, for  five  months,  thereafter, both 
in  London,  and  at  Ludlow,  where,  as  the  capital  of  their  prin¬ 
cipality  of  Wales,  they  held  a  miniature  court,  modelled  after 


280 


THE  MARRIAGE  CONTROVERSY. 


that  of  Westminstei,  they  lived  in  all  respects,  as  n  an  and 
wife.  At  this  time,  Arthur  was  in  good  health,  and  is  de¬ 
scribed  as  a  gentleman  of  good  and  sanguine  complexion,  above 
fifteen  years  of  age,  while  Katharine  was  a  year  his  senior. 
Some  indelicate  remarks  of  the  prince,  suited  to  the  rudeness 
of  the  time,  are  quoted,  as  tending  to  prove  the  consumma¬ 
tion  of  the  marriage ;  but  Katharine,  both  previous  to  her  sec¬ 
ond  marriage,  and  at  the  period  of  her  repudiation,  swore  that 
she  came  to  Henry’s  bed  a  pure  virgin,  as  indeed  she  persisted 
to  the  last ;  and,  on  the  former  occasion,  offered  to  submit  to 
the  examination  of  a  board  of  matrons.  The  whole  affair  is 
mysterious,  and  difficult  of  ascertainment ;  yet,  in  view  of 
Katharine’s  unblemished  and  unquestionable  character  for  pi¬ 
ety,  morality,  integrity,  honor  and  worth,  we  cannot,  I  think, 
err  in  placing  full  confidence  in  the  veracity  of  her  statements 
— the  rather  that  she  does  not  by  any  means  appear  to  have 
been  solicitous  to  marry,  the  second  time,  with  Henry,  who 
was  five  or  six  years  her  junior — and  in  taking  it  to  be  a  fact, 
however  we  may  explain  it,  that  her  marriage  with  Arthur 
never  had  consummation.  It  is  not  my  intention  to  fill  whole 
pages  with  descriptions  of  the  childish  and  endless  pageants, 
allegories  and  masks,  which  are  one  of  the  features  of  this  pe¬ 
riod,  and  which  must  have  been,  one  might  judge,  from  the  te¬ 
diousness  of  the  narrative,  mortally  wearisome,  both  to  the 
spectators  and  performers.  They  are  curious,  certainly,  in  an 
antiquarian  point  of  view,  and  as  throwing  some  light  on  the 
social  life  and  amusements  of  our  ancestors,  which  seem  to  have 
been  as  ponderous  as  their  diet;  and  that  was  no  light  matter 
in  days,  when  the  fairest  and  most  delicate  of  ladies  broke  their 
morning  fast  on  chines  of  beef,  kits  of  salted  herrings,  with  a 
proper  seasoning  of  kilderkins  of  mustard,  and  washed  the 


SILENCE  OF  HISTORY  IN  TIMES  OF  I’EACE. 


281 


solids  down  with  gallons  of  October.  Those  who  are  curious 
about  such  details,  will  find  them  spread  out  over  the  solid 
tomes  of  Ilolingshede  and  Hall,  and  quoted  largely  in  Miss 
Strickland’s  lives,  as  if  to  make  up  for  the  want  of  what  we 
most  desire  to  know,  and  what  she  could  not  give  us,  from  the 
lack  of  existing  information,  something  of  the  inner  and  more 
domestic  life  of  the  princes,  as  well  as  of  the  people  of  that 
day. 

The  truth  is  this ;  that  where  the  lives  of  individuals,  and  the 
courses  of  nations,  run  tranquilly,  peacefully  and  happily,  the 
memoirs  of  those  and  the  histories  of  these  have  little  to  re 
late,  and  that  little  is  related  in  a  few  brief  sentences.  A  cen¬ 
tury  of  undisturbed  and  peaceful  national  advancement,  is  fully 
narrated  in  two  or  three  generalizing  paragraphs — a  single  year 
of  warfare,  of  conspiracy,  of  pestilence,  of  conquest  in  a  peo¬ 
ple’s  career — of  crime,  intrigue,  misery  and  ruin  in  a  man’s 
story,  shall  require  pages,  and  exhaust  eloquence,  in  proportion 
as  it  will  excite  interest  and  enchain  sympathy.  The  deepest, 
and  grandest  and  most  fertilizing  river,  where  it  dispenses 
wealth  by  the  lapse  of  its  waters,  and  bears  the  welfare  of  na¬ 
tions  on  its  bosom,  rolls  on  in  silence  without  a  murmur  that 
should  denote  its  existence  at  a  mile’s  distance.  The  paltriest 
of  brooks,  where  it  is  tortured  into  agony,  or  lashed  into  fury, 
shall  roar  you,  that  its  echoes  will  be  heard  over  leagues  of 
space. 

We  know,  therefore,  that,  before  he  would  consent  that  his 
gentle  daughter  should  wed  with  the  heir  of  England,  Ferdinand 
insisted  that  the  blood  of  the  innocent  young  Earl  of  Warwick, 
unhappy  son  of  the  murdered  Clarence,  and  last  heir  male  of 
the  direct  line  of  the  Plantagenets  of  York,  should  flow  on  tne 
seatlold,  lest  he  should  one  day  dispute  Arthur’s  claim  to  the 


2S2 


KATHARINE,  DOWAGER  OF  WALES. 


throne ;  but  of  the  life  of  that  young  and  interesting  couple 
during  the  brief  five  months,  in  which  they  played  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Wales,  in  their  miniature  court  of  Ludlow,  we 
know  nothing.  History  is  silent,  and  tradition  has  not  left  a 
whisper ;  but  the  absence  of  all  rumor  is  conclusive,  as  is  the 
regret  and  the  long  and  exemplary  widowhood  of  the  charming 
Katharine,  that  they  were,  as  they  deserved  to  be,  happy,  be¬ 
loved  of  one  another,  and  honored  by  their  people. 

Katharine  had  brought  a  royal  dower  of  two  hundred  thou¬ 
sand  crowns  to  England,  on  her  marriage,  half  of  which  sum 
had  been  paid  down  in  gold,  on  the  celebration  of  her  nuptials. 
As  Princess  of  Wales,  she  received  in  dower  Wallingford 
castle,  Cheylesmore,  near  Coventry,  the  city  of  Coventry,  the 
castles  of  Conway  and  Caernarvon,  a  third  part  of  the  stanna¬ 
ries  in  Cornwall,  and  the  city  and  town  lands  of  Macclesfield  ; 
and  now,  on  the  death  of  her  young  husband  by  the  plague, 
which  occurred  amid  the  general  lamentations  of  the  people, 
within  six  months  after  his  marriage,  she  was  allowed,  in  lieu 
of  the  rents  and  rights  of  these  manors  and  cities,  the  sum  of 
five  thousand  pounds,  annually,  equal,  in  all  respects,  to  at  least 
ten  times  that  sum  in  the  present  day,  as  her  appanage,  as 
princess  dowager  of  Wales. 

It  would  seem  strange,  were  it  not  too  common  of  occur¬ 
rence  to  excite  wonder,  that,  out  of  what  would  seem  the  abun 
daDce  of  her  advantages,  and  the  greatness  of  her  position, 
ATine  her  worst  sorrows.  Which  was  the  craftier  and  more 
cold-blooded  schemer,  which  the  more  grasping  and  avaricious 
man,  which  the  more  ambitious,  politic  and  wily  statesman, 
her  father-in-law,  or  her  own  father,  it  were  difficult  to  say.  But, 
no  sooner  was  her  young  and  beloved  husband  dead,  than  she 


KATHARINE  BETROTHED  TO  HENRY. 


283 


herself,  and  her  possessions,  beg:in  to  be  a  subject  of  anxiety, 
which  should  profit  by  her,  of  the  two  royal  intriguers. 

It  was  the  game  of  Ferdinand  to  avoid  paying  the  second 
hundred  thousand  crowns  of  the  infanta’s  dowry ;  and  to  re¬ 
cover  the  hundred  thousand  which  he  had  already  advanced ; 
he,  therefore,  as  loudly  reclaimed  his  “  daughter  and  his  du¬ 
cats,”  as  though  he  had  been  a  very  Shyloek,  not  the  most 
Catholic  king  of  Christian  Spain. 

Henry,  on  the  contrary,  had  no  notion  of  refunding  the  first 
instalment,  but  “  had  made  it  his  mind  and  the  whole  of  his  in¬ 
tent,”  to  get  the  second  instalment,  also ;  and  farther,  he  had 
resolved  that  Katharine’s  appanage  should  be  spent,  so  long  as 
she  should  draw  it,  in  England,  and  to  England’s  profit,  and 
that  she  should  not  carry  it  abroad  or  disburse  it  in  Spain. 

Hereupon,  it  was  proposed  by  Henry,  and,  after  some  de¬ 
mur,  agreed  to  by  the  parents  of  Katharine,  that  a  dispensation 
should  be  obtained  from  the  pope,  and  that  she  should  be  in  due 
season  married  to  Henry,  duke  of  York,  who,  having  been  ed¬ 
ucated  for  the  church,  had  now  become  heir,  and  afterward  suc¬ 
ceeded  to  the  throne,  on  the  demise  of  his  father,  as  Henry 
VIII.  This  prince,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  born  on  the 
twenty-eighth  of  June,  1491,  and  was  now  in  his  twelfth  year  '■ 
only  ;  while  the  infanta  was  a  magnificent  young  woman,  of 
eighteen,  in  the  full  flush  of  mature,  Spanish  adolescence.  It 
is  not  to  be  wondered,  therefore,  that  this  lady,  in  the  flower 
of  young  womanhood,  should  have  been  averse  to  a  marriage 
with  a  mere  boy ;  and  that  she  should  have  written  to  her 
father,  earr  estly  deprecating  the  proposed  alliance,  though  pro¬ 
fessing,  at  the  same  time,  perfect  obedience  to  his  wishes.  That 
father  was  a  mere  cold-blooded  politician,  and  the  daughter’s 
nappiness  was,  of  course,  unhesitatingly  sacrificed  on  the  altai 


284 


THE  BULL  AND  BREVE  OT  DISPENSATION. 


of  state  expediency.  A  dispensation  was  readily  obtained 
from  the  reigning  pontiff,  Julius  II.,  and  the  ceremony  of  be¬ 
trothal  was  performed  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  June,  1503,  in 
the  house  of  the  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  in  Fleet  street. 

It  is  very  worthy  of  remark,  that  Isabella  of  Castille,  who 
was  at  this  moment  on  her  death-bed,  was  deeply  troubled  in  her 
mind  with  forebodings  as  to  the  result  of  this  marriage,  though 
on  what  grounds  it  cannot  readily  be  conjectured  ;  and  that 
she  procured  a  copy  of  the  breve  of  dispensation  to  be  trans¬ 
mitted  to  her  in  Spain,  which  she  afterward  conveyed  into  Kath¬ 
arine’s  possession,  who  carefully  preserved,  and  afterward  pro¬ 
duced  it,  in  support  of  the  validity  of  her  marriage. 

By  Miss  Strickland  this  alarm  on  the  part  of  Isabella  is  re¬ 
garded,  it  would  appear,  as  an  indication  of  doubt  as  to  the 
lawfulness  of  the  marriage,  on  any  terms;  while  Miss  Benger, 
in  her  life  of  Anne  Boleyn,  speaks  stfhngcly  of  the  inconsist 
ency  of  Henry  and  Anne  in  resting  their  opposition  to  the  le¬ 
gality  of  the  marriage,  on  the  alleged  invalidity  of  the  bull  of 
dispensation,  w  hich  she  terms  a  mere  quibble ,  rather  than  on  the 
inherent  unlawfulness  and  vice  of  such  an  alliance.  Both  these 
ladies  forget,  I  apprehend-the  former  in  marvelling  that  Kath¬ 
arine,  among  her  objections  to  the  proposed  marriage,  should 
not  have  spoken  of  it  as  repugnant  to  the  laws  of  God  and 
man,  rather  than  as  merely  repugnant  to  her  own  feelings ; 
and  the  latter,  in  viewing  the  question  of  the  dispensation  as  a 
mere  quibble — two  most  important  considerations. 

First,  that  neither  Isabella  nor  Katharine  could  have  regarded 
such  a  union  as  utterly  repugnant  to  the  laws  of  God  or  man, 
since  such  unions  were  of  common  occurrence  in  Spain  and 
Portugal,  two  of  Katharine’s  own  sisters  having  been  success¬ 
ively  wives  to  the  same  man,  without  a  pretence  of  denying 


GENERAL  FAITH  IN  THE  VIRTUE  OF  DISPENSATIONS.  285 


oohalitation  or  consummation;  and  since  dispensation  was  re- 
quired  in  such  cases,  only,  as  it  was  in  case  of  the  union  of 
cousins,  of  persons  pre-contracted  but  never  married,  and  in 
all  other  instances,  where  the  parties  were  within  the  prohibi¬ 
ted  degrees  of  consanguinity,  and  !  where  the  bar  was  merely 
formal  and  easily  set  aside. 

Secondly,  that  in  those  days,  not  one  person,  in  ten  thou¬ 
sand,  doubted  the  right  of  the  pope  to  grant  dispensations,  or 
the  absolute  virtue  of  the  Papal  dispensation,  when  granted,  to 
legalize  that  which  would  otherwise  have  been  illegal,  and  to 
obviate  all  objections  to  the  commission  of  any  deed,  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  positively  criminal,  but  was  thus 
rendered  innocent  and  irreproachable. 

The  fears  of  Isabella  cannot,  therefore,  have  pointed  to  any 
such  or  similar  scruples,  but  must  be  attributed  to  her  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  tortuous  dispositions  both  of  her  own  husband, 
Ferdinand,  and  of  Henry,  of  England,  which  led  her  to  ap¬ 
prehend  that  political  chicanery  might  cause  interference  with 
her  fair  child’s  prospect  of  married  happiness,  unless  her  mar¬ 
riage  should  be  secured  beyond  a  peradventure ;  and  this 
caused  her  too  seek,  by  all  means,  to  ensure  its  validity,  and  to 
satisfy  herself  of  the  authenticity  and  fullness  of  the  instrument 
which  sanctioned  it. 

Her  fears  were  shortly  to  be  realized,  by  an  occurrence, 
which  doubtless  led,  in  after  days,  to  the  inception  of  Henry’s 
idea  of  procuring  a  divorce,  though  she  lived  not  to  see  their 
confirmation ;  for  soon  after  the  death  of  Isabella,  Elizabeth, 
the  fair  Rose  of  York,  Henry’s  virtuous  and  lovely  consort, 
died;  and,  within  a  few  months  of  that  event,  Philip  of  Bur¬ 
gundy,  sou  of  Maximilian,  on  liis  voyage  from  the  Nether¬ 
lands  to  Spain,  was  forced  by  stress  of  weather  to  land  on  the 


2SG 


DID  SHE  LOVE  HIM  ? 


English  coast,  with  his  wife,  Joanna,  the  elder  sister  of  Katha 
rine.  Henry,  it  appears,  was  struck  with  her  beauty,  and,  her 
husband  dying  shortly  afterward,  conceived  the  idea  of  him- 
self  marrying  the  fair  widow,  and  so  allying  himself  yet  more 
closely  with  the  powerful  family  of  Spain. 

hi  all  ages,  the  English  mind  has  been  especially  averse  to 
kindred  marriages  ;  and  it  seems,  that  the  contract  of  Katha¬ 
rine,  as  widow  of  one,  to  a  second  brother,  had  not  been  per¬ 
fectly  acceptable  to  the  people  of  the  realm.  At  all  events, 
Henry  VII.  was  well  assured  that  if,  in  addition  to  this  mis- 
liked  alliance,  he  should  himself  be  united  to  another  sister,  of 
the  successive  wife  of  two  of  his  own  sons,  the  popular  indig¬ 
nation  would  be  excited  to  a  dangerous  pitch.  Warham,  the 
archbishop  of  Canterbury,  one  of  the  most  trusty  and  wisest 
of  his  counsellors  had,  it  was  understood,  already  taken  excep¬ 
tion  to  the  marriage  of  Katharine  with  the  Duke  of  York,  and 
several  of  the  cardinals  were  said  to  have  protested  against  the 
bull  of  dispensation.  He,  therefore,  compelled  his  son,  on  at¬ 
taining  his  fifteenth  year,  to  protest  against  the  contract  of  mar¬ 
riage  with  his  brother’s  widow,  with  a  view,  undoubtedly,  to  the 
setting  aside  of  that  contract,  in  case  of  his  own  marriage  with 
Joanna  ;  as  that  lady  proved,  however,  to  be  hopelessly  insane, 
the  idea  of  the  match  passed  away,  and  the  protest  itself  was 
concealed,  as  a  state  secret,  until  many  years  afterward,  when 
it  was  produced,  in  order  to  give  a  color  to  the  base  schemes 
of  the  lover  of  Anne  Boleyn. 

It  is  characteristic  of  Henry’s  recklessness  and  headstrong 
obstinacy,  while  he  was  at  yet  a  mere  boy,  that,  although  he 
had,  probably,  thought  little  and  cared  less,  up  to  this  time, 
for  the  grave  and  stately  Spanish  maiden,  who  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  six  years  his  senior,  he  now  became,  or  imagined  h'm- 


L 


FEARS  OF  CLANDESTINE  MARRIAGE.  287 

self  to  be,  passionately  enamored  of  her,  and  his  father  found 
it  necessary  to  keep  a  watch  over  the  young  couple,  and  to  -J 
debar  their  meeting,  in  order  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  their 
contracting  a  clandestine  marriage.  In  what  degree,  there  was 
real  peril  of  this,  it  is  not  easy  to  judge ;  whether  it  was,  as 
Miss  Strickland  argues  “  it  must  have  been,  truly  provoking 
to  the  princess  to  be  treated,  as  if  she  wished  to  steal  a  mar¬ 
riage,  which  she  had  designated  to  her  father  as  distasteful 
and  unsuitable,”  or  whether,  in  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since 
the  writing  of  that  letter,  her  sentiments  had  not  undergone  a 
change,  is,  to  say  the  least,  doubtful.  There  is,  it  must  be  re¬ 
membered,  infinitely  a  greater  disparity  between  the  girl  of 
eighteen  and  the  boy  of  twelve  years,  than  between  a  young 
woman  of  twenty-one  and  a  youth,  unusually  precocious  of  in¬ 
tellect,  as  he  was  beyond  his  age  in  stature,  both  as  to  height 
and  development,  of  fifteen.  It  is  scarce  to  be  doubted,  that 
Henry  VIII.,  who  had,  at  the  early  age  of  forty,  become  so 
bulky  as  to  be  difficult  of  locomotion,  ponderous  and  un¬ 
wieldy,  and  who  stood,  when  at  his  prime,  six  feet  four  inches 
in  height,  was  already  at  fifteen  a  large,  fully-formed  man, 
looking  many  years  in  advance  of  his  actual  time  of  life.  And 
it  is  possible  that  the  heart  of  Katharine  was  not  untouched 
by  the  manly  graces,  chivalrous  deportment,  fair  person,  and 
various  accomplishments  of  her  youthful  lover,  even  as  it  is 
certain,  that  in  after  life  she  did,  for  her  own  misfortune,  be¬ 
ing  probably  the  only  woman  who  ever  did  so,  truly  and  sin¬ 
cerely  love  him. 

One;  fact  is  undoubted,  that  to  whatever  other  causes  this 
contract  is  assignable,  it  is  not  to  any  distaste  to  the  marriage 
on  the  part  of  Henry  ;  who,  on  the  contrary,  ardently  desired 
it,  as  was  proved  by  the  alacrity  with  which,  immediately  on 


288 


HER  MARRIAGE  WITH  HENRY. 


his  beooming  his  own  master,  he  proceeded  to  accomplish  the 
engagement,  in  spite  of  the  objections  of  Warham,  who  liked 
not  the  circumstances  of  the  alliance. 

Scarce  had  he  ascended  the  throne,  before  he  stated  to  Fu- 
ensalida,  in  expressing  his  determination  to  fulfill  his  father’s 
contract,  that  he  loved  Katharine  above  all  other  women  ; 
and,  for  many  years  after  his  marriage,  after,  even,  he  had  be¬ 
come  a  faithless  and  negligent  husband,  he  esteemed  her  vir¬ 
tues,  appreciated  the  sweet  gentleness  of  her  character,  the  irre¬ 
proachable  dignity  and  purity  of  her  life,  admired  her  talents, 
and  loved  her  as  well  as  such  men,  as  he,  are  capable  of 
loving. 

“On  the  day  of  St.  Bernabos,  June  11,  1509,”  says  Bernal- 
des,  the  Spanish  historian,  quoted  by  Miss  Strickland,  “  Donna 
Catalina  wedded  the  brother  of  her  first  lord,  who  was  called 
Enrico,  in  a  place  they  call  Granuche” — Greenwich — “and  was 
crowned  afterward  on  the  day  of  St.  John,  with  all  the  re¬ 
joicings  in  the  world.”  “Her  father,  King  Ferdinand,  was  so 
well  pleased,”  adds  another  Spanish  historian,  “  at  his  daugh¬ 
ter’s  second  marriage,  that  he  celebrated  it  by  grand  festivals 
in  Spain,  particularly  by  the  jeu  des  Cannes,  or  darting  the 
jerreed,  in  which  Moorish  sport  Ferdinand  assisted  in  person.” 

“  On  the  21st  of  June,”  continues  the  fair  authoress,  from 
whom  I  have  quoted  the  above,  “  King  Ilenry  and  Queen 
Katharine  came  to  the  tower  from  Greenwich,  attended  by 
many  of  the  nobility.  After  creating  twenty-four  knights, 
Ilenry,  accompanied  by  Katharine,  on  the  23d  of  June,  pro 
ceeded  in  state  through  the  streets  of  London,  which  were 
hung  for  the  occasion  with  tapestry.  The  inhabitants  of  Corn 
hill,  as  the  richest  citizens,  displayed  cloth  of  gold.  From 
Cornhill  and  the  Old  Change,  the  way  was  lined  with  young 


HER  CORONATION. 


289 


maidens,  dressed  in  virgin  white,  bearing  palms  of  white  wax 
in  their  hands ;  these  damsels  were  marshalled  and  attended 
by  priests  in  their  richest  robes,  who  censed  the  queen’s  pro¬ 
cession  from  silver  censers,  as  it  passed.  Of  all  the  pageants 
ever  devised  for  royalty,  this  was  the  most  ideal  and  beauti¬ 
ful.  At  that  time,  Katharine  was  pleasing  in  person.  ‘There 
were  few  women,’  says  Lord  Herbert,  ‘who  could  compete 
with  Queen  Katharine,  when  in  her  prime.’  She  had  been 
married  but  a  few  days,  and  was  attired  as  a  bride,  in  white 
embroidered  satin  ;  her  hair,  which  was  black  and  very  beau¬ 
tiful,  hung  at  length  down  her  back,  almost  to  her  feet;  she 
wore  on  her  head  a  coronal  set  with  many  orient  stones.  The 
queen,  thus  attired  as  a  royal  bride,  was  seated  in  a  litter  of 
white  cloth  of  gold,  borne  by  two  white  horses.  She  was  fol¬ 
lowed  by  the  female  nobility  of  England,  drawn  in  whirlcotes, 
a  species  of  car  that  preceded  the  use  of  coaches.  Thus  she 
proceeded  to  the  palace  of  Westminster,  where  diligent  pre¬ 
paration  was  making  for  the  coronation  next  day.  Caven¬ 
dish  asserts  that  all  the  orders  for  the  king’s  coronation  and 
the  funeral  of  King  Henry  VII.  were  given  by  Katharine,  the 
illness  of  the  king’s  grandmother  and  the  youth  of  the  king 
were,  perhaps,  the  reasons  that  she  had  thus  to  exert  herself.” 
That  venerable  lady,  the  Countess  of  Richmond,  who  had  been 
regent  up  to  the  period  of  the  coronation,  when  Henry  at¬ 
tained  his  eighteenth  year,  died  a  few  days  after  that  occur¬ 
rence,  and  her  decease,  joined  to  a  dreadful  pestilence,  which 
broke  out  in  London,  banished  the  court  to  Richmond,  where 
Henry  passed  the  year  in  “  pageants,  masking,  and  diversions 
of  the  like  nature,  into  which  he  entered  with  all  the  avidity 
of  a  grown-up  child.” 

It  is  pleasant  to  know,  that  the  first  act  of  royalty  performed 

M  19 


290 


WAR  WITH  FRANCE. 


by  this  good  queen,  was  one,  consistent  with  her  whole  career, 
of  mercy,  charity,  and  justice.  At  her  intercession,  the  unfor 
tunate  agents  of  the  late  monarch’s  extortions,  Empson  and 
Dudley,  who  had  been,  both  illegally  and  unjustly,  attainted 
for  high  treason,  were  respited  for  a  while,  and  would  proba- 
Dly  have  been  pardoned,  had  not  the  clamors  and  accusations 
of  the  people,  which  fatigued  Henry’s  ears  and  wore  out  his 
patience,  during  a  progress  to  the  northern  part  of  his  domin¬ 
ions,  induced  him  to  order  them  for  execution,  finding  it 
cheaper  to  repay  his  father’s  debts  to  his  subjects  with  inno¬ 
cent  blood,  than  by  refunding  the  amount  which  he  owed 
them. 


During  the  two  years,  which  followed,  history  has  nothing 
to  record,  save  the  balls,  revels,  and  devices  of  the  court,  the 
tilts,  tournaments,  and  barriers,  at  svhich  the  young  king  ex 
ercised  and  distinguished  himself,  fighting  daily  before  the 
queen  and  her  ladies;  the  former  affecting,  probably,  an  interest 
in  those  rude  sports,  which  she  did  not  really  feel — for  she  was 
of  a  grave  and  sedate  humor,  addicted  to  literary  amusements 
and  studies,  strictly  observant  of  her  religious  duties,  and  a  rare 
proficient,  not  in  Latin  only,  in  which  she  composed  fluently 
and  correctly,  but  in  the  feminine  and  beautiful  art  of  em¬ 
broidery,  in  which  she  was  held  to  excel. 

In  the  year  1512,  however,  he  determined  to  intervene  in 
the  war,  waging  between  Pope  Julius  II.  and  the  Erench  king, 
in  which  most  of  the  European  kingdoms  were  in  some  sort 
involved  ;  and,  in  J une  of  that  year,  the  third  after  his  accession 
to  the  throne,  he  sent  an  army,  under  the  Marquis  of  Dorset, 
in  Spanish  transports,  to  the  coast  of  Guipuscoa,  to  cooperate 
in  the  conquest  of  Navarre,  and  the  invasion  of  Picardy  and 
Guienne.  At  the  same  time,  Sir  Edward  Howanl  was  ap 


KATHARINE  QUEEN  REGENT. 


291 


pointed  to  cruise  in  the  Channel,  to  blockade  the  French  fleet 
in  its  harbors,  and  to  act  in  concert  with  the  armies.  Both 
these  expeditions  were  unsuccessful.  The  army  lying  inactive, 
owing  to  want  of  concert  with  the  Spaniards,  became  muti¬ 
nous  in  consequence  of  want  and  pestilence,  lost  nearly  half 
its  numbers,  and  finally  returned  home,  having  effected  no¬ 
thing,  and  gained  no  honor.  Sir  Edward  Howard,  whose  fa¬ 
vorite  maxim  it  was,  that  a  sailor’s  highest  virtue  is  the  height 
of  rashness,  after  seeing  his  great  ship,  the  Regent,  burnt  be¬ 
fore  his  face,  fell  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  cutout  six  French 
galleys,  which  were  moored  in  the  bay  of  Conquet,  under  the 
defence  of  batteries  and  rocks  planted  with  cannon.  Boarding 
the  largest  of  the  enemy,  at  the  head  of  a  handful  of  men,  he 
was  unsupported,  overwhelmed  by  numbers,  and  thrust  over 
board  by  the  pikes  of  the  defenders,  casting  the  insignia  of 
command,  his  admiral’s  golden  whistle,  into  the  waves,  that  it 
might  not  be  a  trophy  in  the  hands  of  the  foes  of  England. 
This  gallant  officer,  scion  of  an  illustrious  and  noble  race,  “was 
a  friend  of  Queen  Katharine  and  her  parents,  having  served 
as  a  volunteer  at  the  seige  of  Granada;  he  bequeathed  to  her 
in  his  will  a  beautiful  relic  of  antiquity,  the  grace-cup  of 
Thomas  a.  Becket.  The  queen  subsequently  restored  the 
the  cup  to  the  noble  family  of  Howard,  in  whose  possession  it 
yet  remains.” 

In  the  following  year,  burning  to  achieve  glory  and  to  avenge 
the  disasters  of  the  late  campaign,  Henry  took  the  field  in  per¬ 
son,  passing  over  to  Calais  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  and 
professing  his  resolve  never  to  desist  from  the  war,  until  he 
should  have  reconquered  all  the  French  dominions  of  the  En¬ 
glish  crown,  lost  in  the  disastrous  reign  of  Henry  VI.  Before 
departing,  he  constituted  Katharine  queen  regent  of  the  realm, 


292 


HER  LETTERS  TO  HENRY. 


during  his  absence,  with  larger  powers  than  any  female  had 
ever  held  in  England,  with  the  title  of  captain-general  of  all 
his  forces,  aided  by  a  council  of  five  nobles  —  a  trust  which 
proves  how  absolute,  at  this  time,  was  his  confidence  in  her, 
and  which  was  fully  justified  by  the  wisdom  and  energy  which 
she  displayed  in  her  government. 

Henry’s  showy  and  vain-glorious  campaign,  which  had  no 
results  beyond  the  fruitless  victory  of  “  the  Spurs,”  and  the 
no  less  fruitless  capture  of  Terouenne  and  Tournay,  gained,  at 
the  best,  empty  honor  only,  for  the  country ;  but  the  arms  of 
Katharine  at  home,  wielded  by  the  noble  Earl  of  Surrey  and 
his  two  gallant  sons,  Sir  Thomas  and  Sir  Edmund  Howard, 
the  latter  father  of  a  future  queen  of  England,  yet  more  unfor¬ 
tunate  than  his  first  royal  mistress,  were  crowned  alike  with 
glory  and  advantage ;  for  James  IV.  of  Scotland,  who  had 
married  Henry’s  sister,  Margaret,  and  who  now  took  occasion 
of  his  brother-in-law’s  absence,  and  the  war  with  France,  to  in¬ 
vade  his  dominions,  suffered  the  heaviest  defeat  on  the  famous 
field  of  Flodden,  which  had  befallen  a  Scottish  army  since  the 
disastrous  rout  of  Nevil’s  Cross — at  which,  as  now,  an  English 
queen  commanded,  Philippa,  regent  for  Edward  I.,  like  Henry, 
absent  in  France  with  his  army— and  lost  the  flower  of  his 
kingdom  and  his  own  life,  in  guerdon  of  his  unjust  and  unchiv- 
alrous  attempt. 

The  letters  of  Katharine  to  her  husband,  to  Wolsey,  now 
rising  in  power  and  in  the  royal  favor,  and  to  other  officers 
of  the  crown,  which  are  yet  extant,  display  at  once  the  great¬ 
ness  of  her  talents,  the  goodness  of  her  disposition,  and  her 
administrative  capacity.  They  are  written  in  pure,  idiomatic 
English,  without  any  foreign  tone  or  expression,  and  indicate 
how  completely,  when  she  assumed  the  crown  of  England,  she 


HER  MERCIES. 


293 


assumed  also  the  heart  and  feelings  of  an  English  woman,  as 
well  as  the  dignity  of  an  English  queen.  It  may  here  be  sta 
ted,  if  only  to  refute  a  charge,  probably  false,  on  the  memory 
of  Ferdinand,  who  is  said  to  have  suggested  to  Henry  the  jn 
dicial  murder  of  De  la  Pole,  earl  of  Suffolk,  who  wras  sacri 
ficed  to  the  jealousy  nourished  by  Henry  against  every  one, 
who  claimed  the  dangerous  honor  of  representing  a  drop  of 
the  blood  of  York,  and  consequently  having  the  remotest  show 
of  pretence  to  the  succession,  that,  as  she  did  in  the  case  of 
Warwick,  of  Einpson  and  Dudley,  of  the  princely  Bucking¬ 
ham,  and  of  all  the  unhappy  victims  of  Henry’s  rage  or  policy, 
Katharine  argued  and  entreated  earnestly,  though  in  vain,  on 
the  side  of  mercy.  There  wars  no  taint  of  blood  on  the  un¬ 
stained  whiteness  of  her  regal  ermine ;  and,  even  to  the  ex¬ 
communicated  corpse  of  the  ruthless  invader,  James,  she  had 
rendered  royal  honors,  and  would  have  granted  a  kingly  in¬ 
terment,  but  that  the  return  of  Henry,  who  meanly  avenged 
the  sins  of  the  living  man  upon  the  dead  clay,  frustrated  her 
clemency,  and  defeated  her  pious  intent. 

In  the  following  September,  Henry  landed  at  Dover,  and 
rode  post,  incognito,  to  surprise  the  queen  at  Richmond, 
“  where,”  observes  Hall,  “  there  was  such  a  loving  meeting, 
that  every  one  rejoiced  who  witnessed  it.7’  Yet  under  the  ex¬ 
terior  show  of  love,  there  was  already  the  hollowness  of  infi¬ 
delity  ;  for  it  was  during  this  campaign,  that  he  first  met,  at 
Calais,  Elizabeth  Taillebois,  his  first,  and,  for  a  long  time,  his 
only  mistress,  with  whom  he  maintained  a  connection  for 
many  years,  though  with  little  publicity,  meeting  her  in  pri¬ 
vate  at  a  place  called  Jericho,  near  New  Hall,  in  Essex,  where, 
in  1519,  she  bore  him  a  son,  Henry  Fitzroy,  afterward  Duke 
of  Richmond ;  whom,  on  the  failure  of  all  hope  of  heirs  male 


294 


J 


ANXE  BOLEYN. 


by  Katharine,  he  once  contemplated  legitimating  and  making 
his  heir.  This,  however,  he  was  prevented  doing  by  the  dc 
cease  of  the  young  man,  previous  to  the  repudiation  of  the 
queen. 

On  the  18th  of  February,  1516,  the  queen,  who  had  already 
been  the  mother  of  at  least  two  princes,  neither  of  whom  long 
survived  his  birth,  was  again  brought  to  bed,  this  time  of  a 
daughter,  who  was  named  Mary,  after  her  beautiful  aunt,  the 
queen  of  France;  who,  after  her  husband’s  decease,  had  re¬ 
turned  to  her  native  land,  and  married  the  object  of  her  first 
youthful  fancy,  Charles  Brandon,  the  gay  and  gallant  duke  of 
Suffolk.  With  this  lady  is  associated  the  first  mention  of  the 
queen’s  future  rival  and  successor,  Anne  Boleyn,  who  accom 
panied  her,  as  one  of  her  train,  then  quite  a  girl,  to  France,  on 
her  wedding  with  Louis  XII.;  and  who,  almost  alone  of  her 
English  ladies,  was  permitted  to  remain  in  her  suite,  when  the 
rest  of  her  attendants  were  dismissed.  After  the  death  of 
Louis,  and  the  return  of  Mary  to  England,  Anne  was  transferred 
to  the  service  of  the  good  Queen  Claude  of  France,  and  is  said, 
though,  it  is  probable,  without  any  real  foundation,  to  have 
been  a  favorite  of  that  merry  monarch,  Francis  I.,  previous 
to  attracting  the  regards  of  Henry.  At  this  time,  the  court 
of  Katharine  was  graced  by  the  presence  of  two  queens  dow¬ 
ager,  both  of  them  sisters  of  her  lord,  Mary  of  France,  and 
Margaret  of  Scotland,  beside  an  unhappy  princess,  the  daugh¬ 
ter  of  the  unfortunate  Clarence,  and  sister  to  that  young,  un¬ 
happy  Warwick,  who  died  to  secure  her  own  accession  to  the 
crown.  To  this  royal  lady  her  unvarying  kindness  and  con¬ 
stant  friendship,  is  a  beautiful  trait  of  her  gentle  and  loving  na¬ 
ture,  ever  anxious  to  compensate  the  cruelties  of  her  husband 
to  the  survivors  of  his  victims ;  as  was  her  successful  interccs- 


VISIT  OF  CHARLES  V. 


295 


sion,  in  behalf  of  the  London  apprentices,  condemned  to  death 
for  their  fierce  riot,  on  what  is  known  as  “  111  May -day,”  against 
the  Spanish  residents,  her  own  countrymen  and  loving  subjects, 
a  proof  of  her  forgiving  disposition  and  true  attachment  to  her 
English  people. 

Eighteen  months  after  the  birth  of  the  Princess  Mary,  the 
queen  had  once  more  hope  of  giving  the  king  an  heir,  hope 
which  was  again  frustrated  by  the  death  of  the  infant,  so  soon 
as  it  saw  the  light.  It  was  after  this  disappointment,  that 
Henry  publicly  owned  his  son  by  Elizabeth  Taillebois,  “  a  cir¬ 
cumstance  which,”  as  Miss  Strickland  justly  observes,  “  gave 
the  queen  more  uneasiness  than  any  jealousy  ever  occasioned 
by  the  boy’s  mother.” 

In  1520,  the  year  was  rendered  famous  by  two  great  events, 
one  of  which,  at  least,  made  glad  the  heart  of  Katharine, 
though  probably  she  had  little  pleasure  in  the  empty  pomps 
and  lavish  vanities  of  the  other  —  the  first  of  these,  was  the 
visit  of  her  nephew,  Charles  V.,  the  emperor  of  Germany, 
who  landed  at  Dover,  and  afterward  was  spendidly  entertained 
at  Calais,  whither  the  royalty  of  England  had  crossed  over,  in 
order  to  the  second  event,  alluded  to  above,  the  meeting  of 
the  kings  on  the  field  of  Ardres,  better  known  as  the  field  of 
Cloth  of  Gold.  At  this  interview,  Charles  entered  into  a  con¬ 
tract  of  marriage  with  his  cousin,  the  Princess  Mary  of  En¬ 
gland,  and  was  much  delighted  with  his  reception,  with  the 
splendor  of  the  English  court,  and  with  the  enviable  position 
of  his  aunt,  of  “  whose  happiness  he  often  spoke,  in  being  wed¬ 
ded  to  so  magnificent  a  prince  as  Henry.” 

Little  did  he  think  how  hollow  and  insincere  was  that  out¬ 
ward  magnificence;  how  soon  that  happiness  was  to  come  to 
a  close  •  how  low  that  position  was  to  be  brought  down,  be- 


296 


THE  FIELD  OF  CLOTH  OF  GOLD. 


fore  the  arrival  of  death,  that  common  leveller  of  the  great 
ness  of  kings. 

To  Katharine,  the  field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold  produced  no  result, 
unless  it  be  the  real  friendship,  to  which  it  gave  birth,  between 
herself  and  the  good  Queen  Claude  of  France ;  for  although 
Anne  Boleyn  was  certainly  present,  in  the  train  of  the  French 
queen,  it  does  not  appear,  that  she  even  excited  the  attention 
of  Henry,  much  less  aroused  the  jealousy  of  the  queen ;  who  had, 
at  that  very  moment,  reason  why  she  should  be  aggrieved  at  the 
conduct  of  Anne’s  younger  sister,  Mary  Boleyn,  a  fair,  blue¬ 
eyed  beauty,  who  was,  at  this  time,  even  more  openly  and  os¬ 
tensibly  Henry’s  mistress,  than  the  beautiful  Taillebois  had  been 
befiire  her.  For  some  reason,  it  is  difficult  to  say  why,  Miss 
Strickland  chooses  to  discredit  this  fact,  as  she  does  other  well 
proved  circumstances  in  the  life  of  Anne,  to  which  I  shall  al- 
1  ude,  hereafter ;  although  it  is  notorious,  that  it  was  by  his 
own  shameless  assertion  of  his  connection  with  the  younger 
sister,  though  neither  marriage  nor  contract  between  the  par¬ 
ties  was  pretended,  that  he  procured  his  subsequent  marriage 
with  Anne  to  be  declared  null  from  the  beginning,  and  its  ofF 
spring  illegitimate.  The  clever  authoress  produces  some  very 
pretty  sentiment  on  this  subject,  in  relation  to  Mary’s  subse¬ 
quent  nuptials  with  William  Carey,  as  disproving  the  reports 
of  her  intimacy  with  Henry ;  just  as  if  all  history  did  not 
teem  with  examples  of  fair  ladies  content  to  bury  the  honor, 
or  dishonor,  whichever  it  may  be  deemed,  of  royal  sultanaship, 
under  the  name  of  wife ;  and  of  court  gallants  willing  to  ac¬ 
cept  beauty,  even  when  tainted  by  the  touch  of  kingly  favor. 

In  1522,  war  was  again  declared  against  France,  and,  all 
the  English  being  recalled  to  their  own  country,  Anne  Boleyn 
returned  to  England,  and  was  appointed  to  the  same  office  in 


ANNE  BOLEYN, 


297 


the  court  of  Katharine,  which  she  had  held  in  that  of  Mary 
and  Claude  of  France,  and  Margaret  of  Navarre.  She  seems, 
however,  to  have  made,  as  yet,  no  impression  on  Henry ;  at 
least  the  first  evidence  of  his  entertaining  any  regard  for 
her,  is  found  in  the  passion  into  which  he  burst  on  learning, 
in  1523,  that  she  was  contracted  to  Ilenry  Percy,  son  of  the 
Duke  of  Northumberland,  and  the  pains  which  he  took,  by 
aid  of  the  Cardinal  Wolsey,  to  break  off  the  marriage. 

Still,  it  is  clear  that  the  maid  of  honor  did  not  as  yet  under¬ 
stand,  or  appreciate,  Henry’s  views  — ■  perhaps,  she  imagined 
that  he  had  deprived  her  of  a  noble  husband,  only  in  order  to 
make  her  a  royal  concubine,  a  questionable  honor,  which  she 
by  no  means  appreciated,  not  yet  entertaining  a  suspicion  of 
the  ulterior  views,  which  possibly  Henry  had  not,  as  yet,  him 
self  conceived.  At  all  events,  she  retired,  indignant  and  of¬ 
fended,  from  court  to  the  shades  of  her  father’s  noble  place  of 
Hever  Castle,  in  Kent,  having,  it  is  said  by  some,  been  dis¬ 
missed  from  her  situation  about  the  queen,  as  a  punishment 
for  the  favor  she  had  shown  to  the  suit  of  Percy.  From  this 
year,  until  1527,  there  is  no  mention  of  her  in  history,  unless 
it  be  a  vague  rumor  that  the  king,  on  one  occasion  visiting 
Hever  Castle,  the  lady  took  to  her  bed  on  the  pretence  of  in¬ 
disposition,  and  did  not  suffer  herself  to  be  seen,  until  after  the 
departure  of  the  royal  guest.  It  is,  by  some  writers,  ascribed 
to  this  dissolution  of  her  contract  with  Percy,  that  she  was  so 
constant  and  unrelenting  an  enemy  to  Wolsey  ;  but  it  is  far 
more  likely  that  his  subsequent  opposition,  to  her  elevation 
to  the  throne,  earned  him  her  ill-will,  than  his  agency  in  this 
matter,  which,  however  much  it  might  have  grieved  her  at 
the  moment,  certainly,  in  the  end,  paved  her  way  to  the 
throne. 

M* 


208 


PEACE  WITH  FRANCE. 


At  this  same  period,  Katharine  also  disappears  almost  en 
tirely  from  the  page  of  history.  Her  ill  health  probably  in¬ 
capacitated  her  from  taking,  any  longer,  a  part  in  Henry’s  ab¬ 
surd  pageants  and  revelries ;  as  her  gentle  and  domestic  hab¬ 
its  held  her  aloof  from  his  hunting  matches,  in  which  she  never 
took  any  delight.  Her  studious  tastes  increased  on  her,  at  the 
same  time  her  religious  observances  degenerated  into  something 
like  asceticism,  and,  at  the  very  moment,  when  her  declining 
beauty,  her  increasing  years,  and  her  failure  to  give  him  a  son, 
had  begun  to  operate  on  Henry  to  her  disadvantage,  she  fur¬ 
nished  her  rival  with  weapons  against  herself,  by  withdraw¬ 
ing  herself  from  participation  in  the  king’s  boisterous  amuse¬ 
ments. 

In  1525,  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  Anne’s  father,  was  created 
Viscount  Rochefort;  in  1527,  she  was  recalled  to  court  and  re¬ 
appointed  to  her  old  station  about  the  queen’s  person,  her  old 
lover,  Percy,  having  been  compelled  to  marry  Mary  Talbot, 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  with  whom  he  led  a  most 
unhappy  life.  It  was  on  the  5th  of  May,  in  this  year,  that 
peace  was  reinstated  with  France,  and  Mary,  the  king’s  daugh¬ 
ter,  recontracted  to  Francis,  in  breach  of  her  engagement  to 
Charles  of  Spain. 

It  is  a  significant  circumstance,  that  at  a  grand  masque,  given 
to  the  French  ambassadors  at  Greenwich,  Anne  was  the  king’s 
partner  in  the  dance,  and  that  in  the  conferences  relating  to 
the  marriage,  the  first  idea  of  Mary’s  illegitimacy  and  of  the 
unlawfulness  of  his  union  with  Katharine  was,  according  to 
Henry  and  Wolsey,  suggested  by  a  question  of  the  Bishop  of 
Tarbez,  concerning  the  dispensatory  power.  The  allegation  is 
proved  to  be  false,  by  the  minutes  of  the  conferences  which 
have  been  preserved  but  the  fact  has  its  value,  as  proving  the 


CONDUCT  OF  KATHARINE. 


299 


date  when  the  divorce  became  a  settled  object  of  Henry’s  pol¬ 
icy,  which  was  henceforth  avowed  to  his  ministers,  and  urged 
by  them,  as  the  “  king’s  secret  matter.”  This  alleged  question, 
it  seems,  speedily  came  to  the  ears  of  the  queen,  who  imme¬ 
diately  took  measures  to  protect  herself,  by  sending  a  private 
messenger  to  her  nephew  in  Spain ;  but  Henry,  falsely  and 
cowardly  protesting  that  he  had  no  object  in  view,  but  to 
establish  the  legitimacy  of  their  daughter,  beyond  a  doubt,  she 
was  forced  to  remain  apparently  satisfied,  though  doubtless  she 
was  not  deceived  by  the  weak  falsehood. 

It  must  have  been  a  cruel  aggravation  to  her  anxieties,  to 
have  Anne  always  about  her  person,  present  at  all  her  pro 
gresses  and  entertainments,  attracting,  doubtless,  all  the  king’s 
eyes  by  the  coquetries  which  she  so  well  knew  how  to  prac¬ 
tice,  and  monopolizing  the  attentions,  which  had  once  been  her 
own,  and  which  she  was  not  content  to  resign. 

During  all  this  trying  time,  the  conduct  of  Katharine  was 
more  than  irreproachable ;  it  combined  all  that  consummate 
wisdom,  perfect  temper,  feminine  dignity,  and  conjugal  duty 
could  effect  or  suggest.  Thus  far,  all  decorum  had  been  pre¬ 
served  between  Henry  and  his  new  dulcinea,  however  he  might 
solicit  her  in  private,  ply  her  with  love  letters,  decorate  her 
with  jewels,  distinguish  her  above  all  other  ladies.  Thus  far, 
it  is  probable,  save  in  the  resolve  to  rise  unlawfully,  Anne  was 
an  innocent  woman.  She  had  no  mind,  as  she  told  Henry,  to  be 
his  mistress,  and,  as  yet,  she  saw  no  certain  prospect  of  becoming 
his  wife.  She  knew,  that  at  this  early  stage  to  become  the 
former,  while  the  king  had  in  no  wise  yet  committed  himself, 
would  be  to  renounce  all  hope  of  ever  becoming  the  latter.  So 
far,  therefore,  since  Katharine  sacrificed  nothing  of  self-respect, 
dignity,  or  decorum,  resolute  to  do  nothing  which  should  pro- 


300 


CONDUCT  OF  ANNE  BOLEVN. 


voke,  or  in  any  way  justify,  a  separation  from  her  on  Henry’s 
part,  and  determined  to  maintain  her  own  rights  and  those  of 
her  daughter,  at  all  hazards,  she  would  see  nothing,  hear  no¬ 
thing,  though  of  course  seeing  and  hearing  all  things,  but 
treated  her  rival  with  unvarying  gentleness  and  propriety,  ac¬ 
commodated  herself  to  every  wish  of  her  husband,  mingled 
more  generally  in  the  sports  and  amusements  of  the  court,  took 
part  in  the  balls  and  masques,  inclined  her  ear  to  minstrelsy, 
and  made  every  effort  to  reconciliate  the  affections  of  her  ca¬ 
pricious  and  licentious  despot. 

Once  only,  she  seems  to  have  yielded  to  a  momentary  in¬ 
dignation,  to  have  disclosed  her  knowledge  of  the  secret  in¬ 
trigues  of  the  beautiful  maid  of  honor.  She  was,  it  appeal’s, 
on  one  occasion,  playing  at  some  game  of  cards,  with  the  fa¬ 
vorite,  in  which  the  person  turning  up  or  holding  the  king 
stops,  as  the  winner  of  the  game.  Anne  had  a  run  of  luck, 
winning  many  times  in  succession,  when  the  patient  queen, 
shaking  her  head,  sadly  exclaimed,  “Ah!  my  Lady  Anne, 
you  have  the  good  hap  ever  to  stop  at  a  king,  but  you  are  like 
the  others,  you  will  have  all  or  none.”  I  cannot  profess  to 
see,  as  Miss  Strickland  does,  any  vindication  of  the  honor  of 
Anne,  in  this  “gentle  reproach”  of  the  queen;  nor  can  I  be- 
.ieve,  with  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  in  view  of  her  return 
to  court,  her  overt  flirtations,  and  love-letter  writings  with 
Henry,  immediately  after  her  first  lover’s  marriage,  that  “  she 
would  rather  have  been  Percy’s  countess  than  Henry’s  queen;” 
on  the  contrary,  I  see,  in  her  every  move,  a  deep  determina¬ 
tion  to  win  the  game,  at  all  hazards;  I  see  it  in  her  coyness  at 
one  time,  in  her  consent  at  another;  and,  above  all,  I  see  it  in  the 
implacable,  unrelenting  hatred  with  which  she  pursued  all  who 
opposed  her  marriage  with  the  king, — Wolsey  to  ruin,  More 


VISIONS  OF  KATHARINE. 


301 


and  Fisher  to  the  block ;  and  for  the  love  and  esteem,  which 
she  is  said,  by  her  encomiasts,  to  have  borne  to  Katharine,  1 
read  base  rivalry  and  cruel  triumph  ;  I  mark  her  ungentle  per 
secution  of  the  fallen  queen’s  orphan  child,  bastardized  for  her 
aggrandizement ;  I  see  the  triumphal  dress  of  yellow,  worn  on 
that  fallen  rival’s  funeral  day ;  I  hear  the  exulting  speech — 
“At  length  1  am  the  queen  of  England” — it  needs  not  the  im¬ 
agination  of  a  Shakspere  to  conceive,  if  it  might  tax  his  pow¬ 
ers  to  create,  the  phantom  of  the  abused,  departed  royalty, 
floating  in  vengeful  majesty  athwart  the  path  of  the  exulting 
beauty,  and  replying  to  the  wicked  vaunt,  “  Not  long !  not 
long !  ” 

All  this,  which  I  can  clearly  see  in  the  historic  page,  Katha¬ 
rine  saw,  beyond  doubt,  with  the  eyes  of  the  flesh,  and  much 
of  what  follows  after,  she  appears  to  have  foreseen,  with  the 
eyes  of  the  spirit. 

What  during  these  long  years  of  agony  protracted,  of  hope 
now  extinguished,  now  for  a  little  while  relumed,  must  have  been 
the  sufferings  and  sorrows  of  that  royal  lady,  it  taxes  the  most 
fertile  imagination  to  conceive.  From  this  time,  Henry’s  ex¬ 
ertions  to  obtain  the  pope’s  decision  on  his  divorce  was  open 
and  unconcealed ;  though,  with  his  usual  hypocrisy,  he  as¬ 
cribed  these  exertions  to  dilFerent  causes,  as  he  addressed  him¬ 
self  to  different  hearers — to  the  bishops  and  to  his  injured  wife, 
he  spoke  of  the  troubles  of  his  conscience ;  to  the  temporal 
lords  of  the  necessity  of  securing  the  suceesssion.  He  de¬ 
ceived  no  one,  although  all  affected  to  be  deceived,  even  Kath¬ 
arine,  whom  he  would  have  persuaded  that  it  was  the  validity 
of  her  marriage,  not  its  original  nullity,  which  he  desired  to 
have  confirmed  by  Clement. 

Once,  in  1528,  a  fearful  pestilence  broke  out  in  the  court, 


302 


CAMPEGGIO  AND  THE  DIVORCE. 


known  as  the  sweating  sickness,  at  the  same  time  Campeggio 
the  cardinal  legate,  was  daily  expected  in  London,  to  hold  the 
trial  so  long  and  anxiously  desired ;  and  Henry,  partly  afraid 
of  death,  partly  anxious  to  conciliate  the  good  opinions,  both 
of  the  cardinals  and  the  people,  affected  penitence  and  piety, 
lie  sent  Anne  home  to  her  friends  at  Hever,  and  returned  en 
tirely,  as  it  seemed,  to  his  habits  of  intimacy  and  affection  with 
the  queen.  The  change  was  not,  however,  of  long  duration, 
nor  was  it  even  sincere  while  it  lasted  ;  for,  at  this  very  time, 
he  was  continually  writing  love  letters,  in  the  tenderest  strain, 
and  even  occasionally  paying  visits  to  Anne,  incognito,  atH le¬ 
ver  Castle. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  Campeggio  arrived,  with  full 
powers  to  hear  and  to  decide  the  case ;  and  Henry,  feeling  as¬ 
sured  that  he  should  easily  obtain  his  wishes,  as  dispensations 
and  divorces  were,  in  those  days,  things  readily  granted  to 
crowned  heads,  was  in  high  hope  and  spirits.  Both  these 
were  speedily  diverted  into  blind  wrath  and  frantic  fury.  The 
pope  had  been  assured  by  Wolsey,  who  had  thus  far  not 
looked  unfavorably  on  the  divorce,  having  it  in  view  to  ally 
the  king,  his  master,  either  with  Margaret,  the  beautiful  duch¬ 
ess  of  Alencon,  or  with  Renee,  the  sister  of  Claude  of  France, 
that  Katharine  would  not  refuse  to  assume  a  religious  life. 
But  now,  to  the  dismay  of  all  parties,  and  the  fierce  disgust 
of  Henry,  she  declared  openly  that  she  had  no  idea  whatever 
of  making  any  religious  profession,  nor  had  she  any  taste  or 
vocation  for  a  religious  life.  Thereupon  Henry  blazed  out 
into  fury  irrepressible,  and  declared  that  he  had  discovered  a 
conspiracy  on  the  queen’s  part  to  kill  himself,  her  husband, 
and  the  cardinal,  on  which  revelation  his  obsequious  council, 
thinking  his  life  in  danger,  advised  him  to  separate  h'mself 


TI1E  LEGANTINE  COURT. 


303 


from  her  bed  and  board,  and  to  take  from  her  her  daughter, 
Mary,  lest  she  should  turn  her  infant  mind  against  her  father. 

At  length,  the  legantine  court  sate,  in  the  great  hall  of  Black 
Friars,  on  the  28th  of  May,  1529  ;  the  royal  parties  were 
summoned  to  appear;  Henry  replied  by  two  proctors;  but 
the  queen  appeared  in  person,  followed  by  a  great  train  of  the 
noblest  ladies  in  the  realm,  and  by  four  bishops,  as  her  coun¬ 
sellors  ;  then  courtesying  with  much  reverence  to  the  legates, 
she  appealed  from  them,  as  prejudiced  and  incompetent  judges, 
to  the  court  of  Rome.  The  court  continued  to  sit  for  weeks, 
hearing  evidence  on  both  sides,  and,  on  the  18th  of  June,  again 
summoned  both  the  king  and  queen  to  appear  personally  be¬ 
fore  them.  Henry,  when  cited  by  name,  answered,  “Here,” 
in  a  loud  voice,  and  proceeded  to  deliver  a  long,  hypocritical, 
lying  speech,  praising  his  wife  for  all  possible  excellencies,  and 
descanting  on  his  unwillingness  to  part  with  her,  unless  it  were 
to  soothe  the  pangs  of  his  wounded  conscience.  The  queen, 
on  answering  to  her  name,  renewed  her  protest,  on  the  ground, 
that  all  her  judges  held  benefices  in  the  gift  of  the  king,  and 
again  appealed  to  Rome.  Her  appeal  was  denied  by  the  court, 
whereupon,  taking  no  farther  notice  of  the  legates,  she  made 
the  circuit  of  the  hall,  followed  by  all  her  ladies,  fell  at  Hen 
ry’s  feet,  and,  after  uttering  an  appeal  so  pathetic,  in  its  calm 
and  beautiful  simplicity,  that  it  melted  every  heart,  save  that 
one  heart  of  stone  to  which  her  fortunes  were  unfortunately 
bound,  left  the  court,  in  spite  of  the  repeated  citations  of 
the  crier, — “  Katharine,  queen  of  England,  come  again  into 
court.”  One  of  her  attendants,  on  whose  arm  she  was  lean 
ing,  called  her  notice  to  the  summons;  when  she  replied, 
“  I  hear  it  well  enough.  But  on,  on — go  j  ou  on,  for  this  is  no 
court  wherein  I  can  have  justice;  proceed,  therefore.” 


304 


fisiier’s  defence  of  Katharine. 


When  she  had  withdrawn  herself,  a  strange  scene  followed. 
Wolsey  called  on  the  king  to  exonerate  him  from  the  charge 
of  having  prompted  the  divorce;  Henry  declared  that  this 
was  true,  for  that  the  admonitions  of  his  confessor,  Bishop 
Longland,  with  the  demurs  of  the  French  ambassadors,  had 
first  raised  his  doubts  and  scruples.  As  to  the  French  am¬ 
bassadors,  it  has  been  already  shown  that  they  never  broached 
or  heard  of  the  topic ;  and  the  king’s  confessor,  according  to 
Burnet,  asserted  that,  instead  of  his  suggesting  it  to  Henry, 
Henry  was  continually  urging  it  on  him.  The  king  then  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  state,  turning  to  Warhain  to  confirm  his  statement, 
that  “  these  doubts  having  arisen,  he  had  applied  to  him  for 
license  of  enquiry,  which  was  granted,  signed  by  all  the  bish¬ 
ops.”  Fisher,  of  Rochester,  denied  that  he  had  signed  it,  and 
in  being  shown  his  hand  and  seal,  pronounced  them  both 
forgeries;  and,  farther,  when  Archbishop  Warham  declared, 
that  Fisher  had  permitted  it  to  be  signed  for  him,  indignantly 
repelled  the  falsehood,  pertinently  enquiring,  “  Why,  if  he 
wished  it  done,  he  could  not  have  done  it  himself?  ” 

Henry,  enraged  and  wearied  out  by  the  fruitless  debate,  dis¬ 
solved  the  court  in  a  fury.  Fisher,  who  had  been  Henry’s  tu¬ 
tor,  and  was  thought  to  be  much  loved  by  him,  behaved,  spoke, 
acted,  as  he  was,  a  true,  single-hearted,  honest-minded  man. 
But  his  defence  availed  the  queen  nothing,  and  cost  him  his 
life ;  for  neither  his  pupil,  nor  his  pupil’s  paramour,  ever  for¬ 
gave  him,  until  his  gray  head  had  rolled  on  the  gory  scaffold, 
nor  forgave  him  then  ;  for  they  would  deprive  the  mutilated 
corpse  of  the  honors  due  to  the  lowest  and  the  meanest  of  the 
dead. 

On  the  25th  of  the  same  month,  Katharine  was  again  cited 
into  court,  and,  on  her  refusal  to  appear,  was  pronounced  con 


CAMPEGGIO. 


305 


tumacious.  Her  appeal  to  the  pope  was,  however,  read,  signed 
by  her  own  hand  on  every  page,  protesting  as  before ;  and  she 
wrote  to  her  nephew  Charles,  that  she  would  suffer  death, 
rather  than  do  ought  that  should  compromise  her  daughter’s 
legitimacy. 

On  the  following  day  she  was  visited  by  Wolscy  and  Cam 
peggio,  in  the  palace  at  Bridewell,  where  they  found  her  em¬ 
broidering  with  her  maids,  and  she  came  to  them  with  a  skein 
of  red  silk  about  her  neck.  They  were  commissioned  to  offer 
her  a  carte  blanche  of  wealth  and  honors,  from  the  king,  and  a 
patent  of  secondary  succession  to  Mary,  after  the  children  of 
the  next  contemplated  marriage,  if  she  would  consent  to  a 
divorce. 

Her  refusal  was  absolute  and  uncompromising ;  but,  in  a 
private  interview  which  followed,  she  succeeded  in  gaining  both 
legates  to  her  cause,  so  that  neither  would  ever  pronounce 
judgment  against  her.  When  the  legate’s  court  was  once 
more  assembled,  the  king’s  counsel  pressed  in  vain  for  judg¬ 
ment  ;  for  Catnpcggio  positively  refused  to  decide,  and  referred 
the  whole  matter  to  the  pontiff.  The  king’s  rage  may  be  im¬ 
agined,  from  the  conduct  of  his  friends.  His  brother-in-law, 
the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  when  the  legates  pronounced  the  court  to 
be  dissolved,  started  to  his  feet,  dashed  his  hand  on  the  coun¬ 
cil  board,  so  that  the  whole  house  rang,  and  swore  a  fierce 
oath,  that  “  England  never  had  known  a  good  day  since  cardi¬ 
nals  came  there.”  But  Wolsey  was  as  proud  and  bold  as 
Suffolk,  and  retorted  on  him  sharply.  “  Had  it  not  been,”  he 
said,  “for  one  cardinal,  at  least,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk  would 
have  lost  his  head,  and  had  no  opportunity  of  now  reviling 
him.” 

Soon  afterward,  Campeggio  took  his  leave  of  (he  king,  and 

20 


oOG 


EXPULSION  FROM  WINDSOR. 


set  off  for  Italy.  But,  before  leaving  England,  he  was  subjected 
to  a  grievous  insult,  his  baggage  being  searched  by  the  officers 
of  tfie  customs  at  Dover,  as  if  he  had  been  conveying  out  of 
the  realm  Wolsey’s  treasures,  but,  in  truth,  in  the  hope  that 
the  king’s  love  letters  to  Anne,  which  had  been  purloined, 
would  be  found  in  his  mails.  At  the  same  time,  Wolsey  was 
disgraced,  plundered,  banished  from  the  court,  and,  ultimately 
arrested  for  high  treason,  was  probably  saved  from  the  block 
only  by  a  timely  natural  death. 

For  one  year  longer,  the  unhappy  queen  continued  to  dwell 
as  his  loving  wife,  with  her  reluctant  husband,  accompanying 
him  in  his  progresses,  eating  at  his  board,  and  playing  her  part 
in  the  court  pageants  of  which  Anne  was,  in  truth,  the  queen ; 
but  when,  on  the  following  Whitsuntide,  she  refused  to  submit 
her  case  to  au  English  court,  consisting  of  four  prelates  and 
four  temporal  nobles,  and  expressed  her  determination  “  to 
abide  by  no  decision  but  that  of  Rome,”  she  was  ejected  con- 
tumeliously  from  Windsor  castle;  all  her  jewels,  all  her  ward¬ 
robe,  except  what  she  chanced  to  have  on  her  person,  at  the 
moment,  and  all  the  rich  dowry,  she  had  brought  to  England, 
were  confiscated  ;  she  was  separated  from  her  child,  and  infa¬ 
mously  robbed  of  her  dignity  and  title.  Thenceforth,  she  re¬ 
sided  at  her  manor  of  More  Park,  and  afterward  at  Ampthill, 
near  Dunstable.  Anne,  at  once,  took  her  place.  In  the  king’s 
pomps,  his  processions,  in  his  journeys  and  progresses,  in  the 
hunting  field,  at  the  dining  table,  at  the  council  board,  she 
queened  it  openly.  In  all  respects,  save  that  she  did  not  oc¬ 
cupy  the  same  chamber,  and  bear  the  same  name  or  title,  she 
was  received  by  his  courtiers,  and  honored  by  himself,  as  a 
legal  wife.  Still,  nothing  could  shake  Katharine  in  her  noble 
constancy,  consistency  and  gentle  virtues.  Her  beautiful  let- 


SUPREME  HEAD  OF  THE  CHURCH. 


307 


ters  to  the  child,  of  whom  she  was  so  savagely  bereaved,  and 
whom  she  was  not  permitted  to  see,  on  her  moat  urgent  en¬ 
treaty,  either  when  that  child  was  pining  for  maternal  love  and 
maternal  care,  or  when  she  was  herself  on  her  death-bed, 
breathe  no  strains  but  those  of  humility,  piety  and  submission 
to  the  will  of  her  savage  lord,  to  whom  she  charges  her  to  be 
an  obedient,  loving,  grateful  daughter. 

About  this  period,  Henry  received  a  private  letter  of  friendly 
admonition  and  advice  from  Clement  II.,  who  was  attached  to 
him  by  ties  both  of  gratitude  and  policy,  advising  him  to  take 
home  his  true  and  lawful  wife,  Queen  Katharine,  and  inconti¬ 
nently  to  put  away  “one  Anne,”  whom  he  kept  about  him. 
Henry  was,  for  the  moment,  staggered.  He  had  expected  to 
gain  his  end  easily ;  and  now  it  was  clear  to  see,  that  the  whole 
weight  of  the  church  and  the  whole  opinion  of  the  Christian 
world,  was  against  him.  Following  this  secret  admonition,  as 
the  thunderbolt  follows  the  flash,  came  the  decision  of  the  court 
of  Home.  It  declared  the  marriage  of  Katharine  valid,  and 
its  issue  legitimate,  by  a  preponderating  vote  of  nineteen  car¬ 
dinals  out  of  twenty-two,  the  three  malcontents  venturing  only 
to  propose  a  farther  delay.  But,  previous  to  the  promulga- 
tion  of  this  decree,  events  had  occurred,  which  rendered  it 
null,  and  in  the  end,  produced  the  abolition  of  the  pontifical 
authority  and  the  Romish  influence  in  England. 

Shortly  after  the  fall  of  Wolsey,  and  the  receipt  by  Henry 
of  the  pope’s  secret  admonition,  which  had  moved  him  so 
greatly,  that  he  declared  himself  to  have  been  grossly  deceived 
in  the  matter,  and  went  so  far  as  to  express  a  half-formed  re*, 
olution  to  abandon  the  attempt  forever,  Cromwell,  who  had 
risen  on  the  ruins  of  his  master,  Wolsey,  at  the  instigation  of 
Anne,  and  her  kindred — to  whom  such  a  change  of  sentiment 


308 


CONFERENCE  WITH  FRANCIS. 


would  have  been  degradation  and  destruction — suggested  to  the 
king  the  idea  of  setting  the  pope  at  defiance,  causing  the  di 
vorce  to  be  granted  in  the  ecclesiastical  courts  of  his  own 
kingdom,  and  declaring  himself  supreme  head  of  the  church 
of  England. 

J  By  this  scheme,  Henry  would  not  only  gain  the  power  of 
making  his  mistress — of  whom  he  was  not  yet  utterly  aweary, 
though  possession  had  blunted  the  edge  of  his  early  passion, 
while  her  failure  to  give  him  a  boy  led  him  to  dread  that,  in 
case  of  marriage,  she  would  not  perpetuate  his  race — but 
would  convert  to  his  use  and  pleasure,  all  the  dues  and  droits 
claimed  by  Rome,  and,  on  the  plea  of  reforming  abuses, 
ultimately,  all  the  wealth  of  the  monasteries  and  abbayes  of 
England.  The  bait  took  instantly,  and,  though  Henry  prom¬ 
ised  Francis,  who  visited  him  at  Calais,  in  order  to  hold  a  con¬ 
ference  on  this  very  subject,  that  he  would  not  proceed  with 
his  new  project,  until  the  French  king  should  have  made  an¬ 
other  attempt  to  bring  Clement  to  grant  the  divorce,  he  never 
gave  up  the  idea,  which  shortly  afterward  became  a  fact. 

On  this  progress  to  his  French  dominions,  Henry  was  ac¬ 
companied  by  Anne,  who  had  been  recently  invested  Marchion¬ 
ess  of  Pembroke,  with  ceremonies  not  far  differing  from  the 
coronation  of  a  queen  ;  but  the  lady  and  her  lover  were  equally 
disappointed  by  the  evidence,  which  they  received,  of  the  light 
in  which  her  character  and  station  were  regarded  on  the  conti¬ 
nent,  in  the  fact  that,  although  especially  invited,  Francis 
brought  neither  Margaret,  queen  of  Navarre,  nor  his  sister 
Renee,  to  the  interview;  nor  were  any  French  ladies  of  rank, 
jhow  anxious  soever  Francis  might  be  politically  and  socially 
to  gratify  his  powerful  ally,  found  willing  to  lend  the  sanction 


ANNE  BOLEYn’s  MARRIAGE. 


300 


of  their  presence  to  the  state  of  a  person,  who  could  be  re¬ 
garded  in  no  other  light  than  that  of  a  royal  concubine. 

On  the  return  of  the  king  to  England,  circumstances  pre¬ 
cipitated  measures ;  it  was  soon  found,  that  Anne  wras  likely 
to  make  her  lover  a  father,  before  she  was  herself  made  a 
wife ;  and,  in  order  to  secure  the  legitimacy  of  the  child,  a 
private  marriage  was  resorted  to,  on  the  25th  of  January, 
1533,  which  was  celebrated  in  a  room  of  the  west  tower  at 
Whitehall,  in  the  presence  of  Norris,  who  afterward  suffered 
with  the  new  queen,  Ilcneage,  another  groom  of  the  chambers, 
and  Anne  Savage,  lady  Berkeley,  who  bore  Anne’s  train. 
The  mass  was  performed  by  Dr.  Rowland  Lee,  who  demurred 
to  the  duty  until  Henry  assured  him — the  assurance  being  a 
most  unmanly  and  unkingly  lie — that  Clement  had  pronounced 
in  favor  of  his  divorce,  and  that  he,  then,  had  the  instrument 
in  his  desk.  Much  mystification  was  resorted  to  in  the  con 
cealment  of  the  real  date  of  the  marriage ;  which,  it  appears, 
bold  as  he  was,  Henry  was  afraid  to  avow,  so  indignant  were' 
the  people ;  and  in  the  subsequent  attempt  to  ante-date  it,  in 
order  to  save  Anne’s  character  for  chastity ;  but  the  date  is, 
in  truth,  fully  established  by  the  evidence,  as  well  of  Wyatt, 
Anne’s  former  lover,  constant  admirer,  and  defender,  to  the 
last,  who  fixes  it  on  St.  Paul’s  day,  the  25th  of  January,  as 
above  stated.  If  this  were  not  enough,  Cranmer,  the  arch¬ 
bishop,  also  a  supporter  of  Anne,  wrote  a  letter,  yet  extant,  to 
his  friend  Hawkins,  the  English  ambassador  near  the  court  of 
the  emperor,  denying  that  he  had  married  the  royal  pair,  “for 
I  myself  knew  not  thereof,  for  a  fortnight  after  it  was 
done;”  and,  also,  stating  that  she  was  married  ‘•'■much  about 
Sainte  Paule’s  daye  laste.”  The  object  of  this  letter  is  to 
show  that  the  marriage  was  previous,  not  subsequent,  to  the 


810 


ANNE’S  UNCHASTITV. 


coronation  ;  and  the  reason  for  the  substituting  of  the  words 
“  much  about”  for  “  on,”  by  the  archbishop,  who  must  have 
certainly  known  the  real  date  of  the  celebration,  is  easily 
found  in  the  fact  that  the  Princess  Elizabeth  was  born  on  the 
7th  day  of  September  of  the  same  year,  or  seven  months  and 
thirteen  days  after  the  celebration  of  the  marriage.  This  date 
is,  of  course,  carefully  suppressed,  or  slurred  over,  without 
comment,  by  Protestant  historians,  who,  blinded  by  polemical 
partisanship,  or  by  a  false  sympathy  for  their  sex,  like  Miss 
Bcnger  and  Miss  Strickland,  positively  deny  that  Anne  was 
ever  the  mistress  of  Henry,  or  granted  him  any  ante-connubial 
favors — but  it,  in  truth,  summarily  settles  the  question.  That 
she  conceived  a  child  to  the  king,  two  months  before  her  mar¬ 
riage — even  if  that  marriage  had  been  anything  more  than  a 
mere  quibble ,  while  a  previous  marriage  existed,  undissolved — 
is  conclusive,  as  to  her  unchastity  ;  nor,  when  to  this  certain 
and  undeniable  proof  is  added  the  circumstantial  evidence,  af¬ 
forded  by  her  occupation  of  contiguous  apartments  to  the  king, 
during  at  least  three  years,  and  by  her  being  the  constant 
companion  of  his  privacy,  as  well  as  of  his  pomps,  can  it  be 
doubted  that,  so  soon  as  she  felt  assured  that  he  was  fully  bent 
on  repudiating  his  lawful  wife,  and  espousing  herself  in  her 
stead,  she  surrendered  herself  wholly  to  his  passions,  trust¬ 
ing  to  her  own  blandishments  and  beauty  to  secure  his  capri 
cious  favor  1 

How  nearly  that  was  lost,  we  have  already  seen.  Had  it 
not  been  for  Cromwell’s  offer  to  place  the  power  and  the  rev¬ 
enues  of  the  English  church  in  his  control,  it  is  probable  that 
Henry  would  have  discarded  the  paramour,  of  whom  he  was, 
perhaps,  half  satiated,  so  early  as  1530,  when  the  pope’s  pri¬ 
vate  admonition  reached  him.  Had  she  not  found  herself 


KATHARINE  IN  SECLUSION. 


311 


enceinte,  after  her  return  from  Calais,  it  is  probable,  that  she 
would  have  lived  Marchioness  of  Pembroke,  and  died  in  her 
bed,  not  on  the  scaffold. 

On  her  expulsion  from  Windsor,  Katharine  replied  only  in 
these  touching  words, — “Go  where  I  may,  I  am  his  wife,  and  / 
for  him  I  will  ever  pray.”  She  never  again  saw  her  husband, 
or  her  child.  Until  after  the  marriage  of  Anne,  she  was  al¬ 
lowed  the  title  of  queen,  and  the  empty  honor  to  be  served, 
on  the  knee,  and  to  be  treated  with  the  external  deference, 
due  to  the  rank  which  had  been  so  rudely  wrested  from  her. 

Of  silent  sorrow,  of  domestic  grief,  of  anguish  beyond  expres¬ 
sion,  patiently,  nobly,  unmurmuringly  endured,  history  never 
preserves  a  record.  We  know  only  of  Katharine’s  life,  during 
her  seclusion,  between  her  abandonment  and  her  divorce,  that 
her  time  was  passed,  among  her  faithful  ladies,  in  acts  of  char¬ 
ity,  devotion,  piety,  varied  only  by  the  feminine  arts  and  oc¬ 
cupations  of  embroidery,  to  which  she  had  always  been  ad¬ 
dicted.  Wherever  she  lived,  the  poor  inhabitants  of  the  neigh¬ 
borhood  profited  by  her  goodness,  loved  her,  prayed  for  her, 
followed  her  with  their  sighs,  when  she  was  removed  from 
among  them. 

In  the  meantime,  Cranmer  was  raised  to  the  archbishopric 
of  Canterbury,  vacant  by  the  death  of  Warham,  taking  the 
oaths  of  obedience  to  the  pope,  under  the  mental  reservation, 
that  he  took  that  oath  so  far  as  it  should  not  bind  him  to  any¬ 
thing,  contrary  to  the  law  of  God,  prejudicial  to  the  rights  of 
the  king,  or  prohibitory  of  the  reforms,  which  he  intended  to 
make  in  the  church  of  England. 

The  first  measure  he  took,  being,  indeed,  that  for  which 
alone  he  was  appointed,  was  to  open  his  court  at  Dunstable, 
for  the  trial  of  the  case  of  Queen  Katharine’s  marriage,  having 


312 


chanmer’s  decree. 


the  Bishop  c  f  Lincoln  for  his  assessor,  and  the  Bishop  of  Win- 
Chester  and  seven  other  prelates,  for  the  king’s  councillors. 
The  queen,  who  was  resident  at  Ampthill,  distent  five  miles 
only  from  Dunstable,  was  thrice  cited  to  appear,  and,  not  ap¬ 
pearing,  the  citations  being  proved,  pronounced  contumacious. 
Whereupon,  Cranmer  gave  his  decision,  not  divorcing  the  par¬ 
ties,  but  declaring  the  marriage  null  and  invalid,  as  incestuous 
contracted  and  consummated  in  defiance  of  the  Divine  prohibi¬ 
tion,  and  therefore  without  effect  from  the  beginning. 

A  subsequent  act  declared  the  marriage  of  Henry  with 
Anne  to  have  been  public  aud  manifest,  and  confirmed  it  by 
the  pastoral  authority  of  Cranmer  himself,  so  that  it  was  in  it¬ 
self  valid  from  the  beginning,  and  its  issue  legitimate. 

This  measure  was  immediately  followed  by  the  coronation 
of  Anne,  which  was  celebrated  with  unusual  splendor;  and 
that  by  an  unmanly  and  cruel  attempt  to  degrade,  yet  farther, 
the  forsaken  queen. 

She  was  notified  at  once  to  be  content  with  the  style  of 
Dowager  Princess  of  W ales ;  her  income  was  reduced  to  her 
settlement,  as  Arthur’s  widow ;  and  all  her  attendants,  -who 
should  persist  in  giving  her  the  title  of  queen,  were  irrevocably 
dismissed.  Still,  Katharine  would  not  yield  one  hair’s  breadth. 
“  She  had  come  a  clean  maid  to  his  bed,  she  would  never  be 
her  own  slanderer,  or  confess  herself  a  harlot  of  twenty-four 
years  standing.  She  valued  not  the  judgment,  pronounced  at 
Dunstable,  while  the  cause  was  still  pending  ‘by  the  king’s  li 
cense’  at  Rome,  at  a  pin’s  fee ;  and  as  to  fears  and  threats, 
she  feared  not  those  which  have  power  over  the  body,  but 
Him  only  that  hath  the  power  of  the  soul.’” 

Henry  had  cruelty,  ability,  and  courage  to  carry  out  his 
will,  under  almost  every  possible  shade  of  circumstances;  but 


KATHARINE  AT  BUCKDEN. 


313 


if  his  cruelty  sufficed,  he  either  doubted  his  ability,  or  lacked 
the  courage,  to  carry  out  his  persecution,  to  accomplishment, 
jf  his  noble  and  unoffending  queen.  He  could  persecute  her, 
and  harass  her  with  solicitations  and  commands ;  he  could  dis¬ 
charge  her  women,  and  imprison  her  ecclesiastics  and  con¬ 
fessors — more  than  one  of  whom,  after  her  death,  possibly  he 
dared  not  do  it  before,  he  consigned  to  the  fagot  and  the  stake 
—  but  he  could  not  bend  her  to  resign,  or  compel  her  few 
faithful  attendants  to  deny  to  her  the  title  which  was  her  due. 

At  first  she  sojourned  at  Buckden,  in  what  was  afterward, 
and  is  now,  the  palace  of  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln  ;  where  her 
life,  sad  as  it  was,  was  embittered  by  the  constant  annoyances 
heaped  on  herself  and  on  her  servants,  who  would  not  be 
sworn  to  wait  on  her  save  as  on  the  queen  ;  by  the  cruel  sep¬ 
aration  from  her  care  of  the  young  princess,  Mary ;  by  the 
act  of  succession,  passed  solely  to  illegitimate  that  unoffending 
child ;  by  the  persecution  of  the  adherents  of  her  creed  ;  and, 
above  all,  by  the  judicial  murder  of  Fisher  and  More,  who,  as 
she  believed,  to  the  end,  were  victims  only  to  their  attachment 
to  herself. 

When  a  commission  was  sent  down,  with  authority  either 
to  intimidate  her  by  threats,  or  induce  her  by  conciliatory  oft 
fers  of  augmented  rank  and  increased  income,  into  consenting  to 
her  own  degradation,  her  reply  was  still  the  same, — “  For  the 
vain  glory  of  being  styled  queen,  she  cared  nothing.  But  the 
king’s  w'ife  she  was,  and  would  be ;  and  her  daughter  was  the 
king’s  child,  as  God  had  given  her  unto  them  ;  and  so  she 
would  render  her  unto  him,  and  in  no  otherwise.” 

Then  she  commanded,  as  a  queen,  and  as  the  queen  they 
presumed  not  to  disobey  her,  that  the  minutes  of  the  confer¬ 
ence  should  be  brought  to  her ;  and  wherever  the  words 
N 


314 


HER  TIME  FAST  COMING. 


“Princess  Dowager  of  Wales”  occurred  therein,  she  erased 
them  with  the  dash  of  an  indignant  pen  by  her  own  royal 
hand.  She  was  the  lawful  queen  of  England,  she  lived  so, 
and,  though  she  made  no  boast — as  did  her  unfortunate  suc¬ 
cessor,  without  making  her  boast  good  —  that  no  one  could 
prevent  her  from  dying,  as  she  had  lived,  England’s  queen, 
she  died  so.  Henry  himself  dared  not,  or  could  not  pre¬ 
vent  it. 

While  she  was  yet  at  Buckden,  it  was  only  a  few  months 
before  her  death,  that  the  remarkable  passage  occurred  in 
which,  when  she  heard  one  of  her  ladies  cursing  Anne,  she  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  foreseen,  in  her  knowledge,  doubtless,  of  her  hus¬ 
band’s  character,  the  fate  of  her  haughty  rival.  “Curse  her 
not,  curse  her  not,”  she  said,  “  but  rather  pray  for  her ;  for 
even  now  is  the  time  fast  coming,  when  you  shall  have  reason 
to  pity  her  and  lament  her  case.” 

And  so  was  the  time,  indeed,  fast  coming ;  but  Katharine’s 
own  time  was  coming  faster.  Sorrow  and  suffering,  hope  de¬ 
ferred,  and  agony  protracted,  and  the  ineffable,  indescribable 
heart-break  of  a  spirit  high  •  yet  humble,  proud  yet  patient, 
shattered  yet  self-sustained,  had  done  more  than  the  work  of 
years  on  her  delicate  and  deranged  system.  And,  when  the 
damp  climate  and  clay  soil  of  the  low,  fenny  Buckden  so  aggra 
vated  the  malady  and  depressed  yet  more  the  sinking  spirits, 
of  the  native  of  the  golden  Granada,  that  she  asked  of  her  sav¬ 
age  despot  a  change  of  scene  and  air,  he  ordered  her  to  Foth- 
eringay,  a  place  so  notorious  for  its  “  ill  air,”  that  she  refused 
to  be  removed  thither, unless  she  should  be  “  drawn  by  ropes” 
to  that  gloomy  and  malarious  abode ;  the  prison  in  after  days 
of  a  more  calamitous  and  lamentable,  because  less  innocent 
and  noble,  queen. 


HER  LAST  LETTER  TO  HENRY. 


315 


The  castle  of  Kimbolton,  when  she  would  not  go,  unless  per 
force,  to  Fotheringay,  received  her — a  residence,  agueish  and  al 
most  deadly,  to  the  most  recent  times,  from  the  influence  of 
the  miasma  of  the  rivers  Ouse  and  Nene,  and  the  stagnant  wa¬ 
ters,  not  far  distant,  of  Whittlesea  More.  Sir  Edmund  Bed- 
ingfield  was,  nominally,  her  castellan, — virtually,  her  gaoler ; 
for  no  person  was  allowed  access  to  her,  even  on  her  death¬ 
bed,  without  a  warrant  from  the  privy  council ;  her  only  child 
was  not  permitted  to  gladden  her  dying  eyes ;  and  her  inti 
mate  friend,  the  Lady  Willoughby,  obtained  access  to  her 
chamber,  in  her  last  moments,  only  by  the  exertion  of  much 
fortitude  and  firmness,  seconded  by  some  female  artifice. 

The  will  of  this  excellent  woman  and  admirable  queen,  pray¬ 
ing  for  the  payment  of  a  few  just  debts  to  her  immediate  de¬ 
pendents,  out  of  her  own  jointure  as  dowager  of  Wales,  of 
which  wretched  pittance,  even,  her  base  and  brutal  husband, 
who  had  already  pocketed  her  dowry,  and  plundered  her  jewel 
box  and  wardrobe,  regularly  defrauded  her,  speaks  volumes 
for  her  worth  and  her  unworthy  treatment. 

Her  last  letter,  to  the  husband  of  her  youth,  the  father  of 
her  child,  the  destroyer  of  her  happiness,  her  life,  her  all,  ex¬ 
cept  her  honor,  might  have  wrung  tears  from  stone.  It  is 
here : — 

“  My  lord  and  dear  husband,  I  commend  me  to  you.  The 
hour  of  my  death  draweth  fast  on,  and,  my  case  being  such, 
the  tender  love  I  owe  you  forceth  me,  with  a  few  words,  to 
put  you  in  remembrance  of  the  health  and  safeguard  of  your 
soul,  which  you  ought  to  prefer  before  all  worldly  matters, 
and  before  the  care  and  tendering  of  your  own  body,  for  the 
which  you  have  cast  me  into  many  miseries,  and  yourself  into 


316 


Katharine’s  death. 


many  cares.  For  my  part,  I  do  pardon  you  all,  yea,  I  do 
wish  and  devoutly  pray  God  that  he  will  also  pardon  you. 

“  For  the  rest,  1  commend  unto  you,  Mary,  our  daughter, 
beseeching  you  to  be  a  good  father  unto  her,  as  I  heretofore 
desired.  I  entreat  you  also  in  behalf  of  my  maids,  to  give 
them  marriage  portions,  which  is  not  much,  they  being  but 
three.  For  all  my  other  servants,  I  solicit  a  year’s  pay  more 
than  their  due,  lest  they  should  be  unprovided  for. 

“  Lastly,  do  I  vow  that  mine  eyes  desire  you  above  all 
things.” 

I  said,  that  this  letter  might  have  wrung  tears  from  stone. 
It  is  on  record  that  it  did  wring  tears  from  Henry.  How  far 
those  were  Egyptian  tears,  such  as  the  crocodile  is  feigned  to 
shed,  he  can  judge,  who  is  informed,  that,  after  weeping,  this 
most  unkingly  husband  of  that  right  royal  queen,  dispatched 
his  right-hand  rascal  —  I  know  no  other  word,  in  our  strong 
Saxon  tongue,  wherewith  to  typify  Solicitor-general  Rich,  or 
my  Lord-chancellor  Wriothesley  —  to  Kimbolton,  to  devise 
means,  whereby  he  might  seize  and  convert  to  his  own  use, 
without  paying  her  just  debts,  the  miserable  goods  and  chat¬ 
tels,  the  relics  of  the  scanty  wardrobe — not  equal  to  that  of  an 
English  yeoman’s  goodwife — of  her,  his  true  queen,  and  the 
daughter  of  the  mighty  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  to  whom,  be¬ 
side  Castille  aud  Arragon  and  Leon,  Columbus  had  given  a 
new  world,  beyond  the  Herculean  pillars  and  the  western  sea. 

Whether  the  king  and  his  attorney  succeeded  in  their 
scheme,  history  has  not  told  us — if  they  did  not,  pettifogging 
Rich  was  not  to  blame  for  it.  He  advised  his  master,  that  to 
claim  her  goods,  as  his  own,  would  be  to  acknowledge  her  his 
wife;  and  therefore  suggested,  that  he  should  administer  for 


Katharine’s  perfection. 


317 


her,  as  Princess  Dowager  of  Wales,  and  then  confiscate  all,  as 
insufficient  for  the  charges  of  her  funeral. 

It  matters  not  whether  the  advice  was  acted  upon  or  no. 
The  animus ,  the  intent,  are  undeniable.  The  advice,  in  this 
case,  condemns  no  less  the  receiver,  than  the  giver.  Such  a 
servant  must  have  had  no  other  than  such  a  master.  Tacitus 
has  recorded  the  atrocities  of  the  Caesars,  he  has  told  how  they 
butchered  their  sisters,  mistresses,  wives,  mothers,  but  it  was 
left  to  the  Defender  of  Faith  and  the  first  Head  of  the  church 
of  England,  to  cut  the  purses  and  rob  the  legatees  of  his 
victims. 

As  Katharine  of  Arragon,  I  know  of  no  woman,  recorded  in 
veritable  history,  or  portrayed  in  romance,  who  approaches  so 
nearly  to  perfection.  So  far  as  it  is  permitted  to  us  to  see 
her  character,  without  or  within,  there  was  no  speck  to  mar 
the  loveliness,  no  shadow  to  dim  the  perfection,  of  her  fault¬ 
less,  Christian  womanhood.  If  anything  mortal  could  be  per¬ 
fect,  that  mortal  thing,  so  far  as  man  may  judge,  was  Katha¬ 
rine  of  Arragon. 

“In  the  words  of  Dr.  ITarpsfield*  ‘she  changed  this  woful, 
troublesome  existence  for  the  serenity  of  the  celestial  life,  and 
her  terrestrial  ingrate  husband,  for  the  heavenly  spouse,  who 
will  never  divorce  her,  and  with  whom  she  will  reign  in  glory 
forever.’” 

♦Quoted  from  Strickland's  Queens  cf  England,  to  whose  research — although  I  dif¬ 
fer  totocwlo  from  most  of  her  deductions,  and  estimates  of  character —1  giadiy  record 
my  obligation. 


ANNE  BOLEYN. 

MARRIED,  1533  ;  BEHEADED,  1536. 


When  passion  taught  a  monarch  to  be  wise, 

And  gospol  light  first  dawned  from  Anna’s  eyes. 

GKiT. 

What  daughter  of  her  beauties  was  the  heir  ? 

Bykon,  Child a  1/aroU. 


ANNE  BOLEYN. 

BOHN,  1501—7  ;  MARRIED,  1533;  BEHEADED,  1586- 


When  passion  taught  a  monarch  to  he  wise. 

And  gospel  light  first  dawned  from  Anna’s  eyes. 

Gray 

W  hat  daughter  of  her  beauties  was  the  hoir  ? 

BrnoN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

That  female  beauty  has  a  magic  spell,  dazzling  the  eyes 
and  bewildering  the  judgment  of  contemporaries,  who,  behold¬ 
ing  its  brightness,  are  under  the  direct  influence  of  its  power, 
is  too  notorious  to  be  a  matter  either  for  marvel  or  comment. 
It  is  but  the  old  story  of  that  Athenian  advocate,  who,  finding 
that,  on  the  evidence,  his  frail  client  must  needs  be  convicted 
of  the  crime  laid  to  her  charge,  unveiled  her  charms  to  the 
eyes  of  the  aged  judges  of  the  Heliaea,  and  won  from  them 
by  the  mute  eloquence  of  that  unrivalled  beauty,  the  verdict, 
which  he  despaired  of  gaining  by  all  his  powers  of  oratory  or 
argument,  which  had  no  innocence  for  its  support.  But  that 
the  mere  report  of  loveliness,  which  their  own  eyes  have  never 
looked  upon,  and  which  they  receive  only  at  tenth  hand  from 
hearsay,  when  centuries  have  passed  since  that  vaunted  excel¬ 
lence  of  form  and  feature  has  mouldered  into  the  all-equalizin'* 
N*  21 


322 


HISTORICAL  PARTISANSHIP. 


grave,  should  warp  the  candor  and  disarm  the  judgment  of 
grave  and  sober-minded  historians,  converting  them  into  mere 
partisans,  apologists,  or  even  encomiasts,  does,  indeed,  appear 
wonderful  and  unaccountable,  but,  not  for  that,  is  it  the  less 
true. 

In  two  instances,  especially,  that  of  the  unhappy  lady,  of 
whom  it  is  my  earnest  aim  and  intent  to  draw  a  truthful  por 
trait,  having  it  still  in  mind,  “  naught  to  extenuate  and  naught 
set  down  in  malice,”  and  that  of  the  no  less  woful  queen,  Mary 
of  Scotland,  has  this  been  the  case. 

In  both  cases,  their  charms,  while  they  were  living,  so  mad¬ 
dened  the  spirits  of  men  and  fascinated  their  understandings, 
that  nothing  approaching  to  an  impartial  censure  of  their  con¬ 
duct  or  characters  could  be  expected  from  those,  who  looked 
upon  them,  where  they  were  not  manifestly  hostile  and  influ¬ 
enced  by  religious  hatred,  only  to  admire,  to  love,  and  to 
deem  them  incapable  of  wrong.  But  it  is  strange,  that  to  this 
day,  men  speak  tenderly,  pitifully,  forgivingly,  almost  lovingly, 
of  those  two  unhappy  sirens,  seeming  to  consider  it  almost  a 
sacrilege  to  impute  guilt,  or  attach  suspicion,  to  creatures  so 
enshrined  in  the  halo  and  consecrated  by  the  odor  of  grace  and 
loveliness,  as  these  two  fair,  and,  it  must  out,  frail,  enchant¬ 
resses  of  a  bygone  age.  The  tradition  of  their  fascinations 
haunts  us,  as  if  it  were  a  real  presence ;  the  memory  of  their 
sorrow  melts,  the  bitterness  of  their  fate  revolts  us.  We  feel, 
as  if  we  sate  in  judgment  on  their  reputations,  as  if  we  saw  their 
pale,  despairing  faces,  their  deep,  earnest  eyes  waiting  our  de¬ 
cision,  and  witching  us  to  mercy,  “in  the  scorn  of  consequence.” 
We  almost  fancy,  that  to  pronounce  adverse  sentence  is  to 
bid  the  beautiful  heads  roll  again  upon  the  gory  scaffold,  the 


PARTY  PREJUDICES. 


323 


lovely  eyes  and  lips,  again  to  quiver  in  convulsions,  when  held 
up  to  the  gaze  of  the  abhorrent  spectators. 

Another  object  stands  in  the  way  of  the  truthful  historian 
of  the  lives  of  these  fatally  fascinating  queens,  whose  love  and 
favor  seem  to  have  brought  misery  or  death  to  all  on  whom 
they  rested — it  is  this,  that  in  the  case  of  each,  their  virtues  or 
their  vices  have  been  made  almost  articles  of  faith  by  the  par¬ 
tisans  of  two  hostile  religions,  who  have  identified  their  causes 
with  the  characters  of  the  unhappy  ladies,  and  have  gone  all 
lengths,  and  hesitated  at  no  expedients,  to  vilify  their  reputa¬ 
tions  or  sustain  their  innocence. 

The  Iiomish  party,  justly  attributing  the  English  schism  to 
the  influence  of  Anne  over  the  lustful  and  licentious  despot, 
who  shook  off,  in  mere  wanton  wickedness,  the  yoke  of  Rome 
from  the  English  neck,  have  assailed  her  memory  with  no 
less  rancor,  since  her  destruction,  than  her  contemporaries,  of 
the  same  creed,  hunted  her  living  to  the  block. 

The  Protestants  have,  in  like  manner,  but  with  far  less 
cause,  since  Anne  was  no  more  a  Lutheran,  than  she  was  a 
follower  of  Mahomet,  or  a  favorer  of  reform,  except  so  far  as 
regards  the  subversion  of  pontifical  authority  in  England, 
which  was  with  her  merely  a  matter  of  policy  and  self  inter¬ 
est,  not  of  religion,  persisted  as  far  and  as  blindly  in  her  vindi¬ 
cation. 

Precisely  opposite  has  been  the  course,  adopted  by  the  two 
religious  parties,  in  the  case  of  Mary  Stuart,  the  Scottish  Cal¬ 
vinists,  with  the  fierce,  intolerant,  fanatic,  Knox,  at  their  head, 
and  the  English  Protestant  subjects  of  Elizabeth,  combining 
to  blight  her  memory,  after  cutting  short  the  thread  of  her  sad 
life ;  while  the  Papists  as  religiously  maintained  her  purity, 
and  still  regard  her  as  a  martyr,  almost  canonize  her  as  a  saint. 


324 


PARTIAL  AND  IMPARTIAL  JUDGMENT. 


The  lives  of  both  these  ladies  have  been  given  to  the  public 
by  authors  of  their  own  sex ;  but  little  can  be  said  of  their 
fairness  or  impartiality ;  naturally,  perhaps,  but,  beyond  doubt, 
unfortunately,  they  have  chosen  to  buckler  the  cause  of  their 
sex,  rather  than  that  of  truth  ;  and  the  result  —  more  particu 
larly  in  Miss  Benger’s  life  of  the  hapless  queen,  now  under  dis¬ 
cussion — has  been,  indeed,  lamentable.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say,  that  never  was  a  work  professing  to  be  a  history,  so 
wholly  unworthy  of  reliance.  She  omits  all  notice  of  dates, 
where  to  notice  them  would  invalidate  or  controvert  her  the¬ 
ory  ;  she  resorts  to  vague  probabilities,  not  only  in  lieu  of,  but 
in  contradiction  to,  approved  facts;  and,  in  every  possible  way, 
manufactures  evidence  to  suit  her  purpose,  without  the  small¬ 
est  regard  to  consistency  or  truth. 

It  is  easy,  it  seems  to  me,  to  discern  the  difference  between 
absolute  innocence  and  absence  of  proved  crime.  It  is  possi¬ 
ble  to  distinguish  between  illegal  sentence,  and  undeserved 
punishment.  Above  all,  as  it  is  natural  to  sympathize  with  a 
person  cruelly  persecuted,  unlawfully  condemned,  and  mur¬ 
derously  sacrificed  to  the  lust  of  bloody  vengeance,  not  to  the 
majesty  of  the  law— so  it  is  unnecessary  and  untrue,  to  attribute 
all  possible  excellences  and  an  absolute  immunity  from  all  re¬ 
proach,  to  the  victim  of  injustice,  however  flagrant,  sanguinary, 
or  atrocious,  when  that  injustice  is  manifest,  but  in  a  single  in¬ 
stance — and  still  more  so,  where  the  charges,  although  unsus¬ 
tained  by  sufficient  evidence,  are  yet  so  countenanced  by  glar¬ 
ing  probabilities,  and  self-evident  presumptions,  that  it  is  as  dif¬ 
ficult  positively  to  pronounce  the  judgment  virtually  unjust,  as 
it  is  easy  to  declare  it  actually  illegal. 

I  shall  endeavor  to  lay  the  pitiful  case  of  Anne  Boleyn — for 
pitiful  it  is,  although  her  conduct  toward  others  was  not  such 


FAMILY  OF  ANNE  BOLEYN. 


325 


as  to  entitle  her,  in  her  own  turn,  to  claim  much  pity  for  her¬ 
self — faithfully,  and  charitably  before  my  readers,  not  forget¬ 
ting  that  it  is  a  duty  to  lean  to  the  side  of  innocence,  where 
guilt  is  not  manifestly  proven,  and  to  look  with  suspicious 
eyes  on  persecution,  where  the  object  of  the  persecutor  is  no¬ 
torious.  Of  Anne  Boleyn’s  early  life  but  little  can  be  posi- 
tively  ascertained,  owing  to  her  long-continued  absence  from 
England,  and  to  the  want  of  correct  memoranda  concerning  a 
person,  who  was  of  little  personal  consequence,  until  her  ro¬ 
mantic  rise  and  disastrous  fall,  after  she  had  advanced,  at  least, 
toward  maturity.  The  date,  even,  and  the  place  of  her  birth  are 
doubtful ;  the  records  and  anecdotes  of  her  youth  are  few  and 
far  between ;  and  it  was  found  necessary  to  treat  so  fully  of 
her  conduct,  in  relation  to  her  predecessor,  the  august  Katha¬ 
rine  of  Arragon,  in  making  up  the  memoir  of  that  sovereign 
lady,  so  closely  were  the  threads  of  their  fortunes  and  fates 
intermingled  during  the  pendency  of  the  proceedings  for  di¬ 
vorce,  and  of  Anne’s  accession  to  her  perilous,  and,  as  it  proved, 
disastrous  dignity,  that  little  remains  to  be  given,  beyond  a 
brief  recital  of  facts,  up  to  the  date  of  her  royal  rival’s  de¬ 
cease,  and  the  commencement  of  her  own  decline. 

It  is  stated  by  Lingard,  a  most  industrious,  laborious,  trust¬ 
worthy,  and  generally  impartial  writer,  that  Anne  Boleyn  was 
bom  in  the  year  1507,  but  little  more  than  a  twelvemonth 
prior  to  Henry’s  accession  to  the  throne.  Miss  Benger  as¬ 
sumes  the  date,  without  inquiry,  as  a  fact ;  though^ she  subse- 
quently  discredits  it,  in  a  note,  which,  apparently,  is  done  with 
out  her  being  aware  that  she  does  so. 

She  was  of  illustrious,  if  not  strictly  noble,  blood;  of  a  fam 
ily,  which  had  long  enjoyed  a  high  degree  of  royal  favor,  and 
which  was  connected  by  intermarriage  with  many  of  the  proud 


320 


anne’s  birth-place. 


est  and  most  ancient  lines  in  the  realm.  Her  father,  Sir 
Thomas  Boleyn,  who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  late 
reign,  fighting  for  the  present  king’s  father,  against  the  Cornish 
insurgents,  was  the  son  of  Sir  William  Boleyn,  of  Blickling 
Hal],  in  Norfolk,  by  Margaret,  sister  and  coheir  of  Thomas 
Butler,  the  last  earl  of  Ormond,  and  married  Elizabeth  How¬ 
ard,  daughter  of  the  renowned  Earl  of  Surrey,  victor  of  Flod- 
den-field,  afterward  raised  for  his  services  in  that  battle  to  the 
dukedom  of  Norfolk,  which  title  had  been  previously  in  the 
family,  till  forfeited  by  his  father  for  adherence  to  Richard  III., 
at  Bosworth,  and  which  remains  in  it  to  the  present  day. 
This  marriage  brought  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn  into  close  connec¬ 
tion  with  the  blood  royal ;  as  his  brother-in-law,  Sir  Thomas 
Howard,  created  Earl  of  Surrey,  on  his  father’s  elevation  to 
the  dukedom,  who  himself  led  the  vanguard  at  Flodden,  hav¬ 
ing  succeeded  his  brother,  Sir  Edward,  as  lord  high  ad¬ 
miral,  had  married  Anne  Plantagenet,  sister  of  Elizabeth  of 
Fork,  wife  of  Henry  VII.,  and  mother  of  Henry  VIII.  He 
was,  therefore,  brother-in-law  to  the  king’s  aunt ;  and  to  this, 
probably,  is  due  the  early  and  constant  promotion  of  himself 
and  his  family  to  offices  and  places  of  trust,  about  or  under  the 
crown. 

Hever  Castle,  in  Kent,  Rochefort  Hall,  in  Essex,  and  Blick¬ 
ling  Hall,  in  Norfolk,  have  all  been  named  as  the  birth-place 
of  Anne,  but  the  evidences  are  strongly  in  favor  of  Blick¬ 
ling.  Oral  tradition  still  asserts  the  fact,  which  is  believed 
even  by  the  peasantry  of  the  neighborhood ;  and  the  older 
portion  of  the  mansion,  which  is  coeval  with  her  birth,  was 
long  supposed  to  be  haunted  by  her  domestic  spectre.  Blome- 
field,  the  historian  of  Norfolk,  and  the  antiquary,  Sir  Henry 


DATE  OF  ANNE'S  BIRTH. 


327 


Spelman,  in  his  Icena,  the  latter  himself  a  Norfolk  man,  sim 
ply  assert  it  to  be  her  birth-place,  as  a  matter  beyond  cavil. 

“No  fairer  spot  than  Blickling,”  says  Miss  Strickland,  from 
whom  the  above  facts  are  derived,  “  is  to  be  seen  in  tne  county 
of  Norfolk. 

“  Those  magnificent,  arcaded  avenues  of  stately  oaks  and 
giant  chesnut  trees,  whose  majestic  vistas  stretch  across  the 
velvet  verdure  of  the  widely-extended  park,  reminding  us,  as 
we  walk  beneath  their  solemn  shades,  of  green,  cathedral  aisles, 
were  in  their  meridian  glory  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
when  Anne  Boleyn  first  saw  the  light  in  the  adjacent  mansion. 

“  The  room  where  she  was  born  was  shown,  till  that  por¬ 
tion  of  the  venerable  abode  of  the  Boleyns  was  demolished  to 
make  way  for  modern  improvements.” 

Here,  then,  it  may  be  assumed,  the  future  queen  of  En¬ 
gland  was  born,  in  or  about  the  year  1501 — not,  with  all 
deference  to  Lingard’s  authority,  in  1507 — when  her  lord  and 
master,  that  was  to  be,  was  but  ten  years  old.  A  difference 
of  age  so  small  as  to  set  aside  the  possibility  of  the  stupid  and 
malicious  slander,  that  she  was  Henry’s  own  daughter;  and 
coinciding  nearly  with  Lord  Herbert’s  estimate,  who  states, 
that  she  returned  to  England,  on  the  recall  of  the  English  stu¬ 
dents  from  Paris,  consequent  on  the  declaration  of  war  against 
Francis,  which  occurred  in  1522;  and  that  she  was  then  in 
about  the  twentieth  year  of  her  age.  It  is  also  known,  that 
she  accompanied  Mary,  the  beautiful  sister  of  Henry  VIII.— on 
her  going  to  France  as  bride  of  Louis  XII.— in  quality  of  maid 
of  honor,  in  the  year  1514;  which  is  not  credible  of  a  child 
of  seven  years,  much  less  is  it  to  be  believed,  that,  on  Mary’s 
return  to  England  a  few  months  later,  on  her  royal  husband’s 
death,  so  mere  an  infant,  as  she  is  represented  to  have  been, 


date  of  anne’s  birth. 


328 

should  be  continued  in  that  office,  with  a  second  queen  jf 
France,  Claude  the  Good,  the  lovely  wife  of  Francis  of  Valois, 

There  is,  however,  evidence  of  her  age,  yet  more  conclusive, 
in  a  letter,  yet  extant,  which  she  wrote  to  her  father,  on  recep¬ 
tion  of  her  appointment  as  Mary’s  maid  of  honor,  and  which 
is  evidently  the  composition  of  no  child,  but  of  a  mature- 
minded  and  sensible  young  woman,  containing  more  advanced 
ideas,  than  one  would  now  expect  from  a  girl  of  fifteen  years. 
It  is,  moreover,  certain,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  that,  subse¬ 
quent  to  her  return  to  England,  being  about  twenty  years  old, 
she  had  love  passages  of  some  considerable  duration,  and,  as 
some  have  affirmed,  a  contract  of  marriage  with  Henry  Percy, 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Northumberland.  Now,  Henry  Percy  was 
married  to  Mary  Talbot,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury, 
in  the  year  1523,  after  his  flirtation  with  Anne  had  been 
brought  to  a  close,  by  the  interference  of  W olsey  and  the 
young  lord’s  father,  at  Henry’s  positive  command.  This  is, 
of  course,  conclusive  as  to  the  fact  of  her  being  born  long 
prior  to  1507,  as  alleged ;  since  it  is  equally  improbable, 
not  to  say  impossible,  that  she  should  have  been  a  maid  of 
honor  at  seven,  and  that  at  fifteen  she  should  have  made  so 
deep  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  Henry,  already  a  man  of 
double  her  years,  as  to  determine  him  on  divorcing  his  lawful 
wife,  in  order  to  make  so  young  a  creature  queen. 

It  is  not  stated,  positively,  that  she  was  present  at  the  meet¬ 
ing  of  the  kings  of  France  and  England,  at  the  field  of  Cloth  of 
Gold  ;  but  as  both  the  queens  were  sharers  in  the  pomp,  with 
their  respective  retinues,  and  as  she  was,  at  the  time,  Claude’s 
maid  of  honor,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  she  figured  in  the 
show,  though  it  is,  surely,  somewhat  bold  to  speculate,  with 
Miss  Benger,  on  the  chances  of  her  having  danced  at  a  masque 


anne’s  first  prospects  matrimonial. 


329 


given  in  honor  of  Henry,  on  the  occasion  of  his  visiting  her 
royal  mistress. 

After  having  remained  some  years — it  cannot  be  stated 
with  precision  how  long — in  the  service  of  Queen  Claude,  who 
was  a  lady  something  of  Katharine  of  Arragon’s  stamp,  pious, 
grave,  devotional,  and  addicted  to  serious  exercises  and  discipline 
almost  conventual,  more  than  to  gayetics  and  court  pleasures, 
Anne  was  tranferred  to  the  household  of  the  gayer,  younger, 
livelier,  though  still  perfectly  discreet  and  virtuous,  Margaret 
of  Alencon,  afterward  queen  of  Navarre,  of  whose  retinue  she 
continued  one,  until  the  time  of  her  recall  to  England. 

It  appears  that  the  character  of  the  young  English  maid  of 
honor  had  been  liable,  from  an  early  date,  to  aspersions  and 
imputations  of  something  more  than  levity,  Francis  I.  hav 
ing  been  named  as  too  closely  intimate  with  her,  for  her  good 
fame ;  but  it  is  just  to  say,  that  these  tales  have  no  more 
weight  than  this — that  they  prove  her  conduct  to  have  been 
early  marked  with  that  extreme  levity  and  indiscretion  which,  in 
the  end,  without,  probably,  any  real  criminality,  brought  her 
to  death  and  shame ;  and  that,  in  her  desire  for  indiscriminate 
admiration,  she  cared  little  to  preserve  her  character  unstained 
by  report,  whether  true  or  false,  in  its  origin. 

It  is  evident,  from  many  different  circumstances,  that,  in 
1522,  as  a  preliminary  to  the  declaration  of  war,  which  ensued 
shortly  afterward,  the  English  students,  at  the  university  of 
Paris,  and  the  English  residents  of  superior  class,  were  recalled 
to  England,  and  among  these  came  Anne  Boleyn.  There  is 
reason  to  believe,  moreover,  that  certain  family  reasons  made 
her  return  desirable  at  this  juncture,  a  dispute  having  arisen, 
and  proceeded  to  a  pitch  of  mutual  exasperation,  which  per¬ 
haps  threatened  the  public  peace,  between  the  powerful  Or 


330 


anne’s  first  love. 


monds  and  Boleyns,  concerning  the  inheritance  of  Anne’s 
grandfather,  the  last  Earl  of  Wiltshire.  This  strife,  it  was 
proposed,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  to  compose 
by  the  union  of  Anne  with  Sir  Piers  Butler,  the  rival  kins¬ 
man  ;  and  it  is  stated,  that  Cardinal  Wolsey  wrote  to  France  on 
the  subject,  previous  to  Anne’s  return,  and  a  few  months  sub¬ 
sequent  to  the  marriage  of  Mary,  Anne’s  younger  sister,  and 
Henry’s  second  mistress,  to  William  Carey.  It  is  worthy  of 
notice,  as  it  explains  the  false  and  horrible  report,  that  Anne 
was  Henry’s  own  daughter,  while  it  in  no  wise  diminishes  one’s 
sense  of  disgust  at  all  the  proceedings  of  the  brutal  and  lust¬ 
ful  tyrant,  that  the  step-mother  of  these  unhappy  sisters,  a 
Norfolk  woman  of  low  birth,  whom  Sir  Thomas  married  after 
the  decease  of  his  noble  Howard  wife,  was  much  about  the 
court,  stood  high  in  Henry’s  favor,  and  yet  not  above  the  sus¬ 
picion  of  his  love.  The  error  between  a  real  mother  and  a 
father’s  second  wife,  is  easily  reconcilable  in  the  historian ;  but 
what  must  we  say  of  the  man,  who  could  be  so  much  as  sus¬ 
pected  of  having  two  sisters,  and  a  step-mother,  as  his  suc¬ 
cessive  paramours,  and  one  of  the  three  his  wife,  after  consent¬ 
ing  to  be  his  mistress. 

What  became  of  the  project  of  marriage  with  Sir  Piers 
Butler,  does  not  appear,  but  it  probably  never  came  even  to  a 
regular  engagement,  since  Henry,  who  was  singularly  scrupu¬ 
lous  concerning  such  technicalities,  made  no  allusion  to  such 
precontract,  prior  to  his  nuptials,  nor  use  of  it  when  he  was 
seeking  a  divorce,  as  he  surely  would  have  done,  had  he  known 
or  suspected  the  existence  of  any  such. 

Shortly  after  her  return,  however,  Henry,  lord  Percy,  eldest 
son  of  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  who  was  precontracted, 
much  against  his  will,  to  Mary  Talbot,  was  struck  by  the  charms 


PERCY  TAKES  TO  TASK. 


331 


and  accomplishments  of  the  new  imported  beauty,  bedecked 
with  all  the  fashions,  graces  and  refinements  of  the  French 
court,  then  as  in  all  after  time  the  arbiter  elegantiarum,  of 
all  the  civilized  world.  Anne  had  been  appointed,  immedi¬ 
ately  on  her  arrival,  maid  of  honor  to  the  queen  of  England, 
as  she  had  been  already  to  two  queens  of  France ;  Henry 
Percy,  the  descendant  and  namesake  of  the  gallant  Hotspur, 
was  constantly  in  attendance  on  the  cardinal,  in  whosg  house¬ 
hold  he  was  a  principal  gentleman.  The  young  persons  were, 
therefore,  thrown  into  frequent  contact,  both  in  the  saloons  and 
the  ante-chambers  of  royalty ;  they  played  their  parts  in  the 
same  pageants;  danced  in  the  same  masques,  and  soon  came  to 
distinguish  one  another  from  all  the  members  of  the  gay  and 
festive  company,  and,  although  Anne  was  already  the  cynosure 
of  many  eyes,  wooed,  openly,  by  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt;  ad¬ 
mired,  perhaps,  secretly  by  Norris,  who  was  afterward  so 
unfortunately  connected  with  her  fate;  and  possibly — though 
this  is  a  question — privately  marked  by  Henry  himself,  as  an 
object  of  adventure;  of  which  fact,  however,  if  it  were  one, 
neither  she,  nor  any  other,  as  yet,  entertained  a  suspicion — 
from  fancy  and  flirtation,  they  soon  came  to  mutual  love,  if 
not  to  troth-plighting  and  private  marriage  contract. 

By  the  direct  orders  of  the  king,  Wolsey  proceeded,  in  the 
first  place,  to  take  Percy  to  task  for  his  conduct,  and  then,  to 
bring  the  paternal  authority  of  old  Northumberland  to  his  aid, 
in  order  to  dissolve  the  unpalatable  project,  if  not  troth-plight. 
It  is  capable  of  proof,  that  the  alleged  cause  of  this  measure 
was  the  engagement,  existing  on  the  part  of  both  the  lovers, 
to  third  parties;  and  it  is  quite  within  the  scope  of  probabil¬ 
ity,  that  Henry’s  despotic  temper,  enraged  by  opposition  to 
the  will  he  had  expressed  in  sanctioning  Anne’s  marriage  witn 


332 


ANNE  DISMISSED  THE  COURT. 


Piers  Butler,  had  as  much  to  do  with  his  interference  in  the 
matter,  as  any  fixed  passion  on  his  own  part  for  the  maid  of 
honor. 

Anne,  certainly,  at  this  time,  apprehended  nothing  less  than 
that  she  was  beloved  of  the  king ;  for  we  find,  that,  several 
years  afterward,  so  late  as  1527,  while  he  was  engaged  in  for¬ 
warding  Henry’s  divorce  from  Katharine,  Wolsey  himself  so 
little  understood  the  extent  of  the  king’s  infatuation,  that  he 
desired,  and  believed  it  possible,  to  bring  about  the  union  of 
his  master,  with  a  French  princess,  probably  Renee,  the  sister 
of  Queen  Claude. 

What  is  certain  is,  that  Percy  was  banished  the  court,  and, 
in  the  autumn  of  this  same  year,  1523,  was  compelled  to 
marry  Mary  Talbot,  in  compliance  with  his  early  betrothal; 
and  farther,  that  Anne  was  dismissed  from  her  situation  about 
the  queen,  and  was  sent  home  in  a  species  of  disgrace. 

From  this  period,  until  the  end  of  1526,  or  the  commence¬ 
ment  of  1527,  Anne  resided  at  Hever  Castle,  with  her  father 
and  his  second  wife,  whose  union  seems  to  have  created  a  cool 
ness  between  the  Boleyns  and  the  noble  house  of  Howard  ; 
and  this  coolness  may  have,  in  some  degree,  led  to  the  ill-will 
so  strongly  manifested  by  the  duke  toward  his  unhappy  niece, 
at  the  time  of  her  trial  for  adultery  and  high  treason.  Of  the 
co.nduct,  deportment,  or  occupations  of  Anne,  during  her  pe¬ 
riod  of  seclusion  in  the  peaceful  shades  of  Hever,  no  records 
exist,  unless  it  be  a  local  tradition,  said  to  be  preserved  in 
Kent,  that,  the  king  on  one  occasion  visiting  Hever,  Anne  took 
to  her  chamber,  on  plea  of  indisposition,  in  order  to  avoid  see¬ 
ing  the  royal  visitor — conduct  which,  if  truly  told,  may  point 
as  well  to  coquetry  as  to  either  modesty  or  anger.  Miss  Ben- 
ger  chooses,  gratuitously,  to  ascribe  it  to  the  virtue  aud  discre- 


FIRST  ADVANCES  OF  THE  KING. 


333 


lien  of  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  whom  she  supposes  to  have  been 
so  much  alarmed  by  the  indiscretion  of  Mary ,  and  evident  ad¬ 
miration  of  the  royal  lover  for  Anne,  that  he  desired  to  dis¬ 
countenance  the  growing  intimacy — an  hypothesis  utterly  in¬ 
consistent  with  the  known  character  of  this  cunning  old  cour¬ 
tier,  who  was  commonly  known  as  the  pick-lock  of  princes 
and  whose  undignified  exertions  to  bring  about  the  divorce,  at 
all  hazards,  between  the  king  and  his  lawful  wife,  so  as  to  pave 
the  way  for  his  daughter’s  elevation,  were  so  notorious  as  to 
provoke  a  public  rebuke  from  Charles  of  Spain,  when  he  vis¬ 
ited  Madrid  as  the  king’s  commissioner. 

About  the  time  of  the  supposed  visit  to  llever,  Sir  Thomas 
was  elevated  to  the  peerage,  as  Viscount  Rochefort,  which 
is  the  second  title  to  the  earldom  of  Wiltshire,  so  long  the 
disputed  point  between  the  Ormonds  and  Boleyns ;  and,  in 
the  ensuing  year,  Anne  was  recalled  to  court,  where  she  re¬ 
sumed  her  old  office,  and,  shortly  after  her  return,  received  a 
magnificent  set  of  jewels  from  the  king,  and  became,  at  once, 
the  object  of  his  devoted  attention,  and  impetuous  solicitation. 

A  question  has  been  raised,  and  even  magnified  into  a  point 
of  importance,  as  to  when  and  where  Henry  VIII.  first  saw  or 
noticed  Anne  Boleyn,  whether  at  Greenwich  or  York  House, 
better  known  afterward  as  Whitehall ;  but  to  me  it  appears 
of  less  than  no  moment.  \  For  I  much  doubt,  whether  Jhe 
king’s  agency  in  the  afiaii"of  Percy  had  aught  to  do  with  per¬ 
sonal  admiration  or  attachment;  inasmuch  as  it  is  scarcely 
/conceivable  that,  if  he  banished  that  young  nobleman  in  order 
!to  be  rid  of  his  rivalry,  he  would  have  driven  the  object  of  his 
illicit  passion  into  the  country,  and  abstained  from  all  solicita¬ 
tion  for  a  space  of  four  years.  Such  an  idea  is  neither  con 


334 


J 

anne’s  person  and  beauty. 


sistent  with  human  nature  in  general,  nor  with  the  rash,  furi¬ 
ous  and  fiery  impetuosity  of  Henry,  in  particular. 

It  may  not  be  void  of  interest,  to  my  fair  readers  more  par¬ 
ticularly,  to  select  from  the  accounts  of  contemporary  writers — 
all  of  whom  well  knew,  and  one  of  whom,  the  splendid  poet- 
courtier,  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt,  loved  her,  dared  to  rival  the 
king,  himself,  for  her  favor,  and  wrote  her  encomium  after  her 
ruin  and  death — some  description  of  her  person  and  accom¬ 
plishments,  when  first  she  appeared  in  the  court  of  Kath¬ 
arine. 

“  There  was,  at  this  time  presented  to  the  eye  of  the  court,” 
says  Wyatt,  “  the  rare  and  admirable  beauty  of  the  fresh  and 
young  lady,  Anne  Boleyn,  to  be  attendant  on  the  queen.  In 
this  noble  imp,  the  graces  of  nature  graced  by  gracious  educa¬ 
tion,  seemed,  at  the  first,  to  have  promised  bliss  unto  hereafter 
times ;  she  was  taken  at  that  time  to  have  a  beauty  not  so 
whitely  clear  and  fresh,  above  all  we  may  esteem,  which  ap¬ 
peared  much  more  excellent  by  her  favor  passing  sweet  and 
cheerful,  and  these  both  also  increased  by  her  noble  presence 
of  shape  and  fashion,  representing  both  mildness  and  majesty, 
more  than  can  be  expressed.  There  was  found,  indeed,  upon  the 
side  of  her  nail,  upon  one  ofher  fingers, some  little  shew  of  a  nail, 
which  was  yet  so  small,  by  the  report  of  those  that  have  seen 
her,  as  the  workmaster  seemed  to  leave  it  an  occasion  of 
greater  grace  to  her  hand,  which,  with  the  tip  of  one  of  her 
other  fingers  might  be,  and  usually  was,  by  her  hidden,  with¬ 
out  any  least  blemish  to  it.  Likewise,  there  were  said  to 
be  upon  certain  parts  of  her  body,  certain  small  moles,  inci¬ 
dent  to  the  clearest  complexions ;  and,  certainly,  both  these 
were  none  other  than  might  more  stain  their  writings  with  note 
of  malice,  than  have  catch  at  such  light  moles  in  so  bright 

i  O  O 


HER  GRACE  AND  ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


335 


beams  cf  beauty,  than  in  any  part  shadow  it,  as  may  right 
well  appear  by  many  arguments,  but  chiefly  by  the  choice  and 
exquisite  judgment  of  many  brave  spirits  that  were  esteemed 
to  honor  the  honorable  parts  in  her,  even  honored  of  envy 
itself.” 

Sanders,  who  is  decidedly  hostile  to  Anne,  and  who  in  ev¬ 
ery  instance,  where  her  character  can  be  regarded  in  two  lights, 
looks  to  the  worst,  thus  speaks  of  her;  and  his  account  is 
agreeable  to  the  pictures  which  the  writer  has  himself  seen  of 
her,  and  in  which,  though  the  features,  especially  the  eyes,  are 
lovely,  he  can  easily  conceive  expression  to  have  been  her  pre¬ 
dominant  charm.  “  Anne  Boleyn  was  in  stature  rather  tall 
and  slender,  with  an  oval  face,  black  hair,  and  a  complexion 
inclining  to  sallow;  one  of  her  upper  teeth  projected  a  little. 
She  appeared,  at  times,  to  suffer  from  asthma.  On  her  left 
band  a  sixth  finger  might  be  perceived.  On  her  throat  there  was 
a  protuberance,  which  Chateau  17mi it  describes  as  a  disagreeably 
large  mole,  resembling  a  strawberry ;  this  she  carefully  cov¬ 
ered  with  an  ornamental  collar  band,  a  fashion  which  was 
blindly  imitated  by  the  rest  of  the  maids  of  honor,  though 
they  had  never  before  thought  of  wearing  anything  of  the 
kind.  Her  face  and  figure  were  in  other  respects  symmetri¬ 
cal  ;  beauty  and  sprightliness  sat  on  her  lips ;  in  readiness  of 
repartee,  skill  in  the  dance,  and  in  playing  on  the  lute,  she  wjis 
unsurpassed.  She  was  unrivalled  in  the  gracefulness  of  her  at¬ 
tire,  and  the  fertility  of  her  inventions  in  devising  new  patterns, 
which  were  imitated  by  all  the  court  belles,  by  whom  she  was 
regarded  as  the  g'ass  of  fashion.” 

‘•This  gentlewoman,”  I  quote  from  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury, 
who,  though  in  the  main,  favorable  to  Queen  Katharine,  is  fair 
and  candid  enough  toward  her  successor,  “  being  descended  on 


336 


anne’s  unchastity. 


the  father’s  side  from  one  of  the  earls  of  Ormonde,  and  on  the 
mother’s  from  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Howard,  was  from 
her  childhood  of  that  singular  beauty  and  toward  ness,  that  her 
parents  took  all  care  possible  for  her  good  education.  There¬ 
fore,  besides  the  ordinary  parts  of  virtuous  instruction,  where¬ 
with  she  was  liberally  brought  up,  they  gave  her  teachers  in 
playing  on  musical  instruments,  singing  and  dancing ;  insomuch, 
that  when  she  composed  her  hands  to  play  and  voice  to  sing, 
it  was  joined  with  that  sweetness  of  countenance,  that  three 
harmonies  concurred  ;  likewise,  when  she  danced,  her  rare  pro¬ 
portions  varied  themselves  into  all  the  graces  that  belong  either 
to  rest  or  motion.  Briefly,  it  seems  the  most  attractive  per¬ 
fections  were  eminent  in  her.” 

After  this  passage,  the  historian  proceeds  to  relate  that  “  our 
king  did  not  love  her,  at  first ;  ”  and  then,  after  narrating  the 
circumstances  of  her  love  passages  with  Henry  Percy,  and  the 
breaking  off  of  that  marriage,  leaves  it  in  doubt  whether  the 
cause  of  her  anger  toward  the  cardinal,  which  he  emphatically 
mentions,  arose  from  her  ignorance  of  the  king’s  passion,  or 
from  her  preference  of  Percy.  This  doubt,  dependent,  in  his 
own  words,  on  a  whether,  Miss  Strickland  perverts  into  an  as¬ 
sertion  on  his  part,  that  Anne  “  would  rather  have  been  Percy’s 
countess,  than  Henry’s  queen.”  This  is  the  way  in  which  la¬ 
dies  write  history  concerning  ladies.*  But,  though  the  gallant 
cavalier  will  not  undertake  to  pronounce  upon  the  lady’s  in¬ 
tentions,  he  does  testify  very  powerfully  to  the  falsity  of  the 
charges  of  her  being  Henry’s  daughter,  as  also  of  her  having 
been  the  leman  of  Francis  I.,  and,  moreover,  vigorously  insists 

*  The  passage  in  Lord  Herbert,  which  Miss  Strickland  has  thus  distorted,  and 
which  I  hare  been  at  some  pains  to  hunt  up,  runs  thus  :  But  Mrs.  Bullen,  whether 
that  she  were  ignorant,  yet,  how  much  the  king  loved  her,  or  howsoever  bad  rather 
be  that  lord's  wife  than  a  king’s  mistreat,  took  very  ill  of  the  cardinal,  &c ,  &c. 


SMALL  PROGRESS  OF  THE  KING. 


337 


on  the  reality  of  her  beauty,  of  which,  by  the  way,  the  eccen¬ 
tric  lord  was  a  competent  judge.  “As  for  the  beauty,”  says 
he,  “  and  handsomeness  of  Anne  Bullen,  which  the  same  au¬ 
thor,”  it  is  Rastal,  of  whom  he  speaks,  “  doth  traduce,  beside 
that  it  contradicts  common  sense,  she  having  been,  by  their  al¬ 
legation,  the  minion  to  two  kings,  even  that  picture  of  hers, 
extant  still  with  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  doth  sufficiently 
convince.” 

Shortly  after  Anne’s  return  to  court,  it  is  certain  that  the 
king  began  to  make  amorous  assaults  and  lay  violent  siege  to 
Anne’s  virtue ;  and  it  is  no  less  certain,  that  for  a  time  she  re¬ 
sisted  his  addresses,  with  a  constancy  and  steadiness  of  virtue, 
which  no  one  has  the  right  to  attribute,  as  I  certainly  have  not  the 
desire  to  do  so,  to  anything  but  unfeigned  modesty.  After  a  first 
repulse  and  rebuke,  Henry  declared,  it  seems,  that  he  should 
persist  to  hope,  and  her  reply  has  been  preserved — “  I  under¬ 
stand  not,  most  mighty  king,  how  you  should  retain  such  hope; 
your  wife  I  cannot  be,  both  in  respect  of  mine  own  unworthi¬ 
ness,  and,  also,  because  you  have  a  queen  already.  Your  mis¬ 
tress  I  will  not  be.” 

This  is  the  language  of  virtue,  and  by  virtue,  I  doubt  not, 
it  was  prompted.  Iler  ambition  was  not  yet  awakened  ;  she 
had  no  reason  to  dream  that  she  ever  could  become  the  king’s 
wife,  or  that  he  had  either  the  idea  or  the  power  of  making  her 
so.  The  subject  of  the  divorce  had  not  yet  been  mooted ; 
nor  was  it  a  thing  likely  to  occur  to  the  mind  of  a  young  wo¬ 
man,  who  knew,  doubtless,  that  the  king  had  indulged  himself 
in  illicit  loves  before — once  with  her  own  sister — and  who 
would,  of  course,  naturally  suspect  him  of  entertaining  the  same 
and  no  other  intentions  toward  herself. 

I  regard,  therefore,  the  imputation  of  some  authors,  that, 
O  22 


338 


W  OLSEY  SENT  ABROAr, 


from  her  first  acquaintance  with  the  king,  or  even  so  late  as 
1527,  she  had  a  design  to  supplant  the  queen,  and  that  she  held 
back  only  in  coquetry,  with  a  view  to  increase  his  ardor,  and 
not  from  modesty  or  virtue,  as  purely  malignant  and  cruel. 
There  is  no  rule  more  imperative,  whether  in  forming  private 
judgments,  or  in  criticising  the  conduct  of  historical  persona 
ges,  than  that  good  motives  must  always  be  ascribed,  not  only 
to  good,  but  even  to  questionable  actions,  until  evil  motives 
are  decidedly  proved.  In  this  case,  and  up  to  this  time,  Anne’s 
conduct  was  irreproachable,  and  it  is  unmanly,  as  well  as  un¬ 
just,  to  attribute  baseness,  where  no  baseness  is  shown.  At 
this  period,  and  much  later,  I  doubt  not  Anne  Boleyn  would 
have  chosen  to  be  the  wife  of  Percy,  or  of  any  other  loyal  gen¬ 
tleman,  rather  than  to  be  Henry’s  mistress,  nor,  I  believe,  did 
she  ever  become  the  latter,  until  she  was  assured  that  the  king 
was  determined  to  make  her  his  wife,  and  until  she  believed 
that  the  divorce  would  be  sure  and  easy  of  attainment.  It 
was  about  this  period,  that  the  divorce  was  first  mooted,  and 
Wolsey  sent  abroad  to  procure  it,  by  tampering  with  the  pope, 
the  king  of  France,  and  other  powers,  whom  it  was  believed 
that  the  offer  of  English  alliance  would  induce  to  favor  the 
king’s  wishes.  But  it  was  not  until  his  return  from  France, 
that  he  learned,  and  on  learning  endeavored  by  all  means  tc 
combat,  his  master’s  resolution  to  raise  Anne  to  the  throne. 
This  the  cardinal  opposed,  not  from  dislike,  as  has  been  absurdly 
argued,  to  Anne,  much  less  from  any  doubt  of  her  leaning  to 
Lutheran  or  Wicklifiite  doctrines,  to  neither  of  which,  as  Lord 
Herbert  clearly  shows,  had  she  ever  the  smallest  tendency. 
“  And  for  her  religion,’'  says  he,  “  there  is  no  probability  that  it 
should  be  other  than  what  was  commonly  profest.  Since  it  ap¬ 
pears  by  original  letters  of  hers,  that  she  was  a  special  favorei 


ANNE  NOT  A  LUTHERAN. 


339 


of  the  clergy  of  that  time,  and  preferrer  of  the  worthiest  sort  of 
them  to  ecclesiastical  livings,  during  her  chief  times  of  favor  with 
the  king.  Though  I  will  not  deny  but  upon  his  defection  from 
some  articles  of  the  Roman  church,  she  might  also  comply.” 
The  same  testimony  is  borne  by  Archbishop  Cranmer,  in  his 
letter  to  the  king,  at  the  time  of  her  condemnation ;  in  which 
he  declares,  “  that  he  loved  her  formerly,  because  he  thought 
that  she  loved  the  gospel.”  And  on  this  expression  Lingard 
well  observes,  in  a  note,  “  from  this  and  similar  expressions, 
the  queen  has  been  represented  a  Protestant.  She  was  no 
more  a  Protestant  than  Henry.  The  ‘  gospel  ’  means  the 
doctrine  professed  by  Henry  ;  had  the  archbishop  meant  any¬ 
thing  else  he  would  have  only  accelerated  her  ruin.”  This  is, 
indisputably,  true ;  the  only  article,  in  which  Henry  differed 
from  the  Iloinan  church,  was  that  which  rendered  it  Roman , 
its  dependence  on  the  Bishop  of  Rome,  as  its  head.  He  main¬ 
tained  all  its  most  ultra  and  offensive  doctrines  to  the  end,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  putting  his  last  wife,  Katharine  Parr,  on 
her  trial  for  heresy.  Had  Anne  Boleyn  been  a  Lutheran, 
Henry  would  have  been  at  no  pains  to  prove  her  an  adulter¬ 
ess,  or  to  divorce  her,  but  would  have  sent  her  to  the  stake  as 
a  heretic.  At  this  time  he  had  just  been  engaged  in  writing 
against  Luther,  and  had  newly  received  his  title  of  “Defender 
of  the  Faith.” 

It  was  not,  therefore,  from  dislike  to  Anne,  it  was  not  from 
disapprobation  of  her  religious  tenets — for  she  had  no  more 
religious  tenets  of  any  kind,  than  any  gay,  volatile,  fashiona¬ 
ble  girl,  brought  up  in  licentious  courts,  is  like  to  have — least 
of  all,  was  it  to  subserve  his  own  interests,  that  he  opposed 
Anne’s  elevation,  for  those  would  evidently  have  been  advanced 
by  the  advancement  of  the  king’s  favorite,  and  the  promoting 


340 


wvatt’s  suit. 


the  king’s  wishes.  His  opposition  to  Anne  was  founded  on 
his  conviction,  as  an  English  statesman,  that  the  raising  of  a  pri¬ 
vate  gentlewoman  to  the  throne  was  in  every  way  impolitic, 
and  injurious  to  English  interests,  as  tending  to  alienate  and 
affront  foreign  princes,  to  breed  intestine  strifes,  and  to  give 
undue  preponderance  in  the  state,  to  private  families.  And  he 
was  in  the  right;  for,  from  the  days  of  Elizabeth  Woodville 
such  have  been  the  results,  in  every  instance,  where  an  English 
gentlewoman  has  been  made  an  English  queen. 

From  this  moment,  however,  begins  a  total  change  in  Anne 
Boleyn’s  character  and  conduct.  From  this  moment,  she  con¬ 
ceived  the  idea  of  becoming  Henry’s  queen,  and  commenced 
dealing  her  cards,  for  that  game.  From  this  moment,  we 
find  her  a  finished  coquette,  playing  fast  and  loose,  hot  and 
cold,  as  Henry  appeared  more  or  less  urgent  and  enamored. 
At  about  this  period  she  encouraged  the  addresses  of  Wyatt, 
who  was  now  a  married  man,  to  such  a  degree  as  to  excite 
his  hopes — illicit  hopes,  for  they  could  have  been  no  other  — 
so  far  as  that  he  braved  the  rivalry  of  the  king ;  and  by 
this  means  inflamed  Henry’s  passions  to  the  height  of  jealous 
fury. 

Wyatt,  it  appears,  while  toying  writh  the  maid  of  honor,  on 
some  occasion,  as  she  sate  at  her  embroidery  frame,  snatched 
from  her  a  jewelled  tablet  and  chain,  and  hung  it  about  his 
neck,  under  his  doublet,  vowing  that  he  would  ever  wear  it 
for  her  sake.  Henry,  about  the  same  time,  despairing  of  win¬ 
ning  her  to  he  his  mistress,  began  to  court  her  to  marriage, 
and  took  from  her  a  ring,  which  he  ever  after  wore  on  his  lit¬ 
tle  finger  as  a  love  token. 

Of  this  matter  of  the  ring,  Miss  Benger  observes,  that  this 
ceremony,  “  had  it  been  performed  before  witnesses,  would 


THE  GAME  OF  BOWLS. 


341 


have  l>een  equivalent  to  a  solemn  betrotlnnent.”  That  lady, 
in  her  eager  advocacy  of  her  heroine,  probably  meant  some¬ 
thing,  or  other,  by  this  ceremony  of  betrothment ;  but,  except 
in  Utah,  I  am  aware  of  no  place  in  which  a  married  man’s  be¬ 
trothment  to  an  unmarried  girl  is  valid  ;  or  where  her  reputa¬ 
tion  would  not  be  damaged  by  such  a  betrothment.  I  men¬ 
tion  this  fact,  merely  to  show  how  strangely  literary  partisan¬ 
ship  may  operate  to  blind  the  clearest  minds.  There  never 
was  a  more  virtuous  lady,  or  one  to  whom  an  idea  of  moral 
turpitude,  in  real  life,  would  have  been  more  abhorrent,  than 
Miss  Benger;  and  yet,  in  her  zeal  to  bolster  up  Anne  Boleyn’s 
reputation,  we  find  her  inventing,  as  exculpatory,  a  circum¬ 
stance  which,  if  true,  would  have  been  most  condemnatory  of 
her  —  her  betrothment  to  a  married  man,  during  his  undis¬ 
turbed  cohabitation  with  his  first  and  lawful  wife. 

But  to  return  to  the  tale — a  day  or  two  after  he  had  gained 
the  l  ing,  the  king  was  playing  at  bowls,  in  high  glee  and  good 
humor,  with  the  Duke  of  Suffolk,  Sir  Francis  Bryan,  and  Wy¬ 
att,  when  there  chanced  to  be  a  disputed  cast,  between  Henry 
and  the  latter  knight.  The  king  claiming  it,  while  Wyatt  and 
his  partner  declared  that  “by  his  leave  it  was  not  so,”  the 
former  bethought  him  of  the  other  rivalry  between  himself 
and  his  fellow-bowler,  and,  thinking  to  abash  him,  pointed  with 
his  little  finger,  on  which  Anne’s  ring  was  conspicuous,  to  the 
disputed  bowl,  and  exclaimed,  with  a  meaning  smile,  “I  tell 
thee,  Wyatt,  it  is  mine .” 

Thereupon,  Wyatt  drew  out  from  his  bosom  Anne’s  chain 
and  tablet,  and  retorting,  “And  if  it  may  like  your  majesty  to 
give  me  leave  to  measure  the  cast  with  this ,  I  have  good  hopes 
it  will  yet  be  mine”  proceeded  to  measure  the  ground.  But 


342 


THE  SWEATINO  SICKNESS. 


Henry,  in  high  dudgeon,  spurned  away  the  bowl,  and  broke  up 
the  game,  crying,  “  It  may  be  so,  but  then  I  am  deceived.” 

Three  things  strike  one  as  remarkable  in  this  story,  which 
is  related  by  Wyatt  himself;  first,  the  singular  equality,  which 
this  bluff,  cruel,  despotical  tyrant  admitted,  in  privacy,  with 
his  associates ;  secondly,  the  unquestionable  evidence,  which  it 
affords,  that  the  pursuit  of  Henry,  thus  far,  was  regarded,  by 
his  nearest  friends,  as  merely  licentious  —  for,  had  it  been  im¬ 
agined,  for  a  moment,  that  he  was  courting  her  to  be  his  wife, 
no  man  dared,  for  his  life,  to  woo  her  ostensibly  to  infamy — 
and,  thirdly,  to  call  it  by  no  harsher  name,  Ihe  shameless  lev¬ 
ity  of  the  girl,  who  would  suffer  herself  to  be  the  object  of  am¬ 
orous  rivalry,  between  two  married  men,  one  of  them  the  hus¬ 
band  of  her  royal  mistress,  whom  henceforth,  it  cannot  be  de 
nied  that  she  was  endeavoring  to  supplant. 

From  this  time  forth,  Anne  Boleyn  took  the  lead  in  all  the 
pageantry  and  splendor  of  the  court ;  and  she  now  began  to 
assume  a  state,  to  which  she  was  in  no  wise  entitled,  and 
which  greatly  exasperated  those  of  the. lords,  who  retained  any 
feelings  of  loyalty  or  independence,  and  the  common  people, 
generally,  against  her.  Once,  during  the  dreadful  pestilence, 
known  as  the  sweating  sickness,  partly  struck  with  a  sort  of 
pseudo  compunction — for  he  seems  to  have  been  most  unroy- 
ally  afraid  of  the  plague  —  partly  from  a  desire  to  cajole  the 
pope  into  a  belief  of  his  submission,  Henry  suffered  her  to  retire 
to  Hever,  where  he  plied  her  with  the  most  ardent  love  letters, 
to  which  she  replied,  so  as  to  keep  him  up  to  fever  heat,  without 
surrendering  herself  to  his  passion.  On  her  being  taken  ill 
herself,  with  the  pestilence,  the  king  sent  his  own  physician  to 
attend  her ;  and,  so  soon  as  she  had  recovered,  she  was  again 
brought  back  to  court,  and  reinstated  in  all  her  former  splcn- 


henry’s  STOLEN  VISITS  TO  ANNE. 


343 


dor.  After  a  short  residence,  however,  still  in  the  quality  of 
maid  of  honor  to  her  injured  mistress,  within  the  precincts  of 
the  palace,  on  the  arrival  of  Cardinal  Campeggio  to  try  the 
question  of  divorce,  she  was  again  removed,  as  a  matter  of 
policy,  and,  in  order  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  decorum,  once 
more  to  the  rural  shades  of  Hever,  where,  though  she  with¬ 
drew  reluctantly  and  even  indignantly,  she  was  cheered  by 
constant  love-letters,  and  frequent  visits  from  the  royal  lover, 
who  stole  away,  so  often  as  opportunity  offered,  from  his  court 
at  Eltham  or  Greenwich,  and  rode  at  the  speed  of  his  fastest 
horse  to  his  lady-love  at  Hever,  accompanied  only  by  his  two 
confidants,  Weston  and  Norris,  both  of  whom,  it  is  strange 
and  awful  to  relate,  shared  the  fate  of  the  then  beloved  and 
courted  beauty.  “  Tradition  still  points  to  the  hill,  in  front 
of  the  castle,  where  the  well-known  bugle  announced  the  king’s 
approach,  and  his  impatience  to  be  admitted  to  the  beloved 
presence.  At  this  welcome  signal,  the  drawbridge  was  low¬ 
ered,  the  gates  were  thrown  open,  and  Henry  found  all  his 
constraint  and  trouble  overpaid  by  a  single  glance  exchanged 
with  Anne  Boleyn.”  In  this,  which  is  quoted  from  Miss  Ben- 
ger,  that  lady  sees  nothing  but  platonic  affection,  nothing  to 
detract  from  the  fair  maid  of  honor’s  unimpeachable  delicacy, 
or  to  lead  her  to  doubt  the  affection  which  she  entertained  for 
her  noble  and  saintly  mistress. 

Miss  Strickland,  likewise,  alludes  to  the  romantic  visits  to 
Hever ;  describes  the  oak-pannelled  chamber,  from  the  case¬ 
ment  of  which  Anne  used  to  watch  his  approach ;  and  the  an¬ 
tique  gallery,  in  which  she  used  to  have  her  stolen  interviews 
with  her  lover ;  but,  resolute  as  she  shows  herself  to  defend 
the  corporeal  purity  of  her  heroine,  in  spite  of  the  infallible  ev¬ 
idence  of  dates,  she  cannot  absolutely  blind  herself  to  the 


344 


FALL  OF  WOLSEY. 


truth,  that  “  if  she  abstained  from  compliance  with  the  unhal 
lowed  solicitations  of  the  king,  it  must  be  ascribed  rather  to 
caution  than  to  virtue.” 

It  must  be  admitted,  in  fairness,  that  from  her  letters,  which 
are  probably  ascribable  to  this  period  of  secession  from  court, 
and  in  one  of  which  occurs  the  following  remarkable  passage — 
“  1  desire  also,  that  if  at  any  time  before  this  I  have  in  any 
way  offended  you,  that  you  would  give  me  the  same  absolu¬ 
tion  that  you  ask,  assuring  you  that  hereafter  my  heart  shall 
be  dedicated  to  you  alone.  I  wish  my  person  was  so,  too. 
God  can  do  it,  if  he  pleases  ” — one  may  infer  that  she  had,  as 
yet,  maintained  her  personal  purity,  though  all  her  delicacy  of 
mind  was,  clearly,  gone  forever.  Hereafter,  however,  she  lived 
cither  in  lodgings  contiguous  to  the  king’s  apartment,  under 
the  same  roof  with  the  queen,  though  keeping  separate  state, 
having  a  separate  train,  with  chaplains,  ladies  in  waiting,  and  a 
train-bearer,  or  in  the  splendid  palace  known  as  Suffolk  I  I«use, 
immediately  adjoining  Whitehall. 

On  the  23d  of  July,  1529,  the  cardinal  legates  held  their 
last  sitting,  and  refused,  in  spite  of  all  the  instances  of  the 
king’s  advocates,  to  grant  the  divorce,  referring  the  decision  to 
the  pope.  The  fury  of  Henry  can  be  imagined;  but  the  dark, 
silent  resentment  of  Anne  was  yet  more  deadly  and  implaca¬ 
ble.  Once  or  twice,  Henry  seemed  on  the  point  of  relenting 
toward  his  old  friend  and  faithful  servant,  Wolsey,  whom  she 
was  bent  to  destroy  ;  but  Anne’s  influence  was  too  strong  for 
him.  On  the  last  occasion  he  ever  had  to  regain  the  king’s 
ear,  when  an  audience  had  been  promised  him,  for  the  follow¬ 
ing  morning,  this  wily  woman  carried  off  her  lover  on  an 
equestrian  expedition  to  Harewell  park,  provided  a  place  for 
him,  in  which  to  dine,  and  there,  “  while  he  was  dallying  with 


wolsey’s  regrets. 


345 


her  in  the  gay  greenwood,  at  their  sylvan  meal,”  extorted 
from  him  the  promise,  never  to  see  or  speak  to  the  cardinal 
again. 

That  promise — as  ill  promises,  for  the  most  fart,  are — was 
well  kept.  Even  after  his  banishment  to  the  see  of  York, 
Anne  was,  as  Wolsey  himself  said,  “a  night  crow,  that  pos¬ 
sessed  the  royal  ear  against  him,  and  misrepresented  all  his 
actions.”  She  never  pardoned  him ;  not,  when  her  first  lover, 
Percy,  now  earl  of  Northumberland,  whom  his  marriage  with 
Mary  Talbot  had  made  the  most  miserable  of  men,  arrested 
him  at  Cawoods,  trembling,  himself,  with  excess  of  emotion  at 
thus  sating  his  thirst  of  vengeance,  and  bound  his  legs,  like 
those  of  the  vilest  malefactor,  under  the  belly  of  hisrm*^^ 
not,  when,  in  his  touching  address  to  the  Abbot  of  Leicester, 
he  “  came,  a  poor  old  man,  to  lay  his  bones  among  them ;  ” 
not,  when  he  went  to  his  long  home,  regretting  only  that  he 
had  not  served  his  God  as  faithfully  as  he  had  his  king.  In 
the  following  year,  Cromwell’s  scheme  for  the  separation  of 
England  from  the  Papal  see,  and  the  granting  of  the  divorce 
by  an  English  court,  was  matured,  and  the  measures  were  put 
in  force  for  its  accomplishment;  and,  forthwith,  Anne  took 
on  herself  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of  queen.  At  Whitsun¬ 
tide,  1531,  Katharine  was  ejected  from  Windsor  castle,  repu¬ 
diated  from  the  bed  and  board  of  her  wicked  lord,  and  forbid¬ 
den  to  associate  with,  or  even  see,  her  child.  Iler  rival,  at 
once  assumed  her  apartments,  her  place  at  the  banquet,  at  the 
council-board,  in  public  processions,  in  private  festivities,  in 
everything  except  style  and  name,  she  was  queen  of  England  ; 
and,  toher  ineffable  disgrace  be  it  spoken,  to  the  orphaned  and 
illegitimated  child,  and  to  all  the  friends  and  adherents  of  her 
fallen  queen  and  rival,  she  showed  herself,  constantly,  a  cruel 
O* 


34(> 


LADY  ROCHEFORT. 


persecutre&s.  It  is  idle  to  dispute  the  fact,  that  from  this  time, 
she  was  openly  and  ostensibly  Henry’s  mistress.  That  she 
was  so,  a  few  months  later,  is  evident  from  the  date  of  her 
own  marriage  and  of  her  daughter’s  birth.  To  the  fact  of  her 
being  enceinte  of  that  daughter,  she,  unquestionably,  owed  it, 
that  she  was  ever  more  than  his  mistress,  or  higher  than  the 
Marchioness  of  Pembroke.  Her  investiture  with  that  title, 
argued  ill  for  her  chances  of  coronation  ;  the  positive  refusal 
of  Francis  to  bring  with  him  any  of  the  royal  ladies  of  Franoe, 
when  he  visited  the  king  at  Calais,  proves  how  she  was  re¬ 
garded  abroad  ;  the  prospect  of  her  bearing  her  lover  an  heir 
male  made  her  a  queen ;  and,  shortly  afterward,  her  failure  to 
do  so,  brought  her  to  the  block. 

It  is  a  significant  fact,  that  her  sister-in-law,  George  Bo- 
leyn,  Viscount  Rochefort’s  wife  —  her  father  had  been,  now, 
created  Earl  of  Wiltshire  —  who  was  afterward  the  principal 
witness  against  her,  and  still  later  a  fellow-sufferer  with  her 
cousin,  Katharine  Howard,  was  at  this  time  committed  to  the 
tower,  in  cousequence  of  her  loudly  expressed  sympathies  with 
.Queen  Katharine. 

To  about  this  date  it  is, that  we  must  refer  a  strange  story, 
to  which  one  would  hesitate  to  give  credit,  were  it  not  related 
by  Wyatt.  It  is  worthy  to  be  repeated,  only  because,  as 
Miss  Strickland  well  observes,  “  it  shows  her  determination 
to  be  a  queen,  coute  qui  coute .”  The  following  are  her 
words :  — 

“A  book,  assuming  to  be  of  a  prophetic  character,  was,  by 
some  mysterious  agency,  placed  in  her  chamber,  one  day.  It 
seems  to  have  been  of  a  similar  class  with  the  oracular  hicro- 
glyphical  almanacs  of  succeeding  centuries,  having  within  its 
pages  certain  figures,  marked  with  the  letter  h,  upon  me,  a, 


THE  SYHILLINE  HOOK. 


347 


r-n  another,  and  k  on  a  third,  which  were  expounded  as  the 
king  and  his  wives ;  and  to  her  person  certain  destruction  was 
predicted,  if  she  married  the  king.  Anne,  finding  the  hook  on 
her  table,  took  it  up,  and,  seeing  the  contents,  called  her  prin¬ 
cipal  attendant,  a  young  lady,  named  Anne  Saville — 

“  ‘Come  hither,  Nan,’  said  she,  ‘see  here  this  book  of  proph¬ 
ecies.  This  is  the  king;  this  is  the  queen,  wringing  her  hands 
and  mourning ;  and  this  myself,  with  my  head  cut  off.’ 

“Anne  Saville  answered,  ‘If  I  thought  it  were  true,  I  would 
not  myself  have  him,  wrere  he  an  emperor.’ 

“‘Tut,  Nan,’  replied  Anne  Boleyn,  ‘I  think  the  book  a  bau¬ 
ble,  and  am  resolved  to  have  him,  that  my  issue  may  be  royal, 
whatever  may  become  of  me.’  ” 

In  September,  1532,  Anne  was  invested  Marchioness  of 
Pembroke,  with  ceremonies  closely  resembling  those  of  a  cor¬ 
onation,  and,  immediately  afterward,  repaired  with  the  king 
to  Boulogne  and  Calais,  where  he  was  to  hold  the  conferences 
with  Francis,  regarding  a  reconciliation  with  Pope  Clement  1L 
Here  it  was  that  she  met  the  slight,  I  have  recorded  above,  in 
finding  no  French  ladies,  who  should  do  her  honor  ;  but  she 
was,  in  some  sort,  reconciled  to  the  affront,  by  dancing  with 
Francis,  who,  on  the  following  day,  sent  her  a  present  of  a 
jewel,  valued  at  fifteen  thousand  pounds.  Here  it  was,  also, 
that  Henry  promised  his  brother  monarch,  that  he  would  pro¬ 
ceed  no  farther  with  the  marriage,  until  another  attempt  should 
have  been  made  to  gain  the  consent  of  Clement. 

The  circumstance  of  Anne’s  pregnancy,  however,  which'  ap¬ 
peared  before  any  negotiations  had  been  effected,  precipitated 
matters.  On  the  twenty-fifth  of  January,  1533,  her  marriage 
was  performed,  as  has  been  related  above,  privately  in  the 
palace  of  Whitehall.  On  the  twenty-third  of  May  ensuing, 


348 


anne’s  marriage. 


the  marriage  of  Queen  Katharine  was  pronounced,  by  Cran 
mer,  void  and  of  no  effect  from  the  beginning,  and  its  issue 
illegitimate.  On  the  twenty-eighth  of  the  same  month,  by 
the  same  prelate,  the  marriage  of  Anne  and  Henry  was  de 
dared  public  and  manifest ;  and  was  confirmed  by  him,  by 
his  pastoral  and  judicial  authority;  and,  on  the  first  of  June, 
she  was  crowned,  with  unusual  splendor,  and  conducted,  in  all 
the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  the  time,  from  Greenwich  to  the 
tower,  as  the  royal  Katharine  had  been  conducted,  three-and- 
twenty  years  before,  by  the  same  road  which  she  was,  herself, 
soon  to  travel  on  a  darker  errand.  Miss  Benger  opines,  that 
“  although  the  present  ceremony  was  perhaps  not  entitled  to 
the  same  magnificence,  which  had  been  displayed  on  that  oc¬ 
casion,”  the  coronation  of  Katharine,  “it  might  aspire  to  even 
superior  elegance  and  taste,  since  its  object  was  a  woman  in 
the  prime  of  youth  and  beauty,”  &c.,  &c.  The  fair  authoress, 
unfortunately,  forgets  that  Anne  Boleyn  was,  at  the  time  of 
•  her  marriage,  in  her  thirty-third  year,  while  Katharine  of  Ar- 
v  ragon  was  but  in  her  twenty-fifth  ;  that,  from  the  accounts  of 
contemporaries,  more  particularly  Sir  John  Russel,  one  of 
Henry’s  privy  council,  who  directly  compares  her  with  Anne 
Boleyn  and  Jane  Seymour,  it  is  very  doubtful,  if  she  were  not 
equal,  perhaps  superior,  in  beauty  to  her  successor,  at  the  time 
of  their  respective  marriages ;  and  that  as  to  the  romance  of 
their  antecedents,  and  the  interest  attached  to  each,  the  daugh¬ 
ter  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  the  patroness  of  Columbus,  her¬ 
self  the  nursling  of  the  Alhambra,  whose  device  was  the  pom¬ 
egranate  of  the  sunny  Granada,  the  spotless  Spanish  infanta 
was  as  far  superior  to  the  child  of  the  picklock  of  princes,  the 
heiress  of  Hever  castle,  the  concubine  and  bigamous  bride  of  a 
wedded  bridegroom,  as  light  is  to  darkness,  or  the  gorgeous 


DEATH  OF  MORE  AND  FISHER. 


349 


sunshine  tc  the  twinkling  of  a  farthing  candle.  On  the  seventh 
day  of  September,  so  unduly  did  the  child-bed  follow  the  nup¬ 
tial  bedding,  was  born  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  to  the  ineffable 
disappointment  of  the  royal  parents,  though  she  was  destined, 
after  strange  vicissitudes  of  fortunes,  to  reign  as  the  greatest 
queen,  who  ever  sat  on  the  throne  of  England. 

The  following  year  was  infamous  for  the  judicial  murder  of 
the  insane,  epileptic  nun,  Eliza  Barton,  and  of  those  most  ad¬ 
mirable  men,  barbarously  sacrificed — I  write  it  with  regret — 
rather  to  the  unrelenting  hatred  of  the  new  queen,  than  even 
to  the  brute  rage  of  Henry, — More  and  Fisher.  The  latter 
had  been  his  tutor,  whom  he  once  affected  to  love  and  revere, 
above  all  men;  the  former  had  been  his  intimate  friend,  with 
whom  he  played  practical  jokes  and  jested,  as  with  an  equal ; 
but  who  so  well  knew  the  tiger,  with  whom  he  was  compelled  to 
play,  that  he  once  observed  to  his  son-in-law,  Roper,  after 
some  unusual  condescension  on  Henry’s  part,  that  the  king, 
his  master,  was,  indeed,  a  very  gracious  master,  but  that,  “  to 
win  a  small  castle  in  France,  he  would  very  readily  take  his 
head  off  his  servant’s  shoulders.” 

It  is  reported  that,  when  the  news  arrived  that  More’s  exe¬ 
cution  had  taken  place,  Henry  was  playing  at  tables  with  Anne, 
and  that,  on  receiving  the  tidings,  he  started  up,  with  a  “Thou 
art  the  cause  of  the  death  of  this  man,”  left  the  room,  and  shut 
himself  up  in  his  own  apartment,  in  great  perturbation  of 
spirit.  If,  however,  his  repentance  were  true,  it  was  no  less 
short-lived ;  it  did  not  prevent  him  from  reducing  the  inno 
cent  wife  and  orphan  children  of  his  victim,  as  nearly  as  it  was 
in  his  power  to  do,  to  beggary  and  starvation.  The  pope,  on 
the  30th  of  August,  in  the  succeeding  year,  1535,  thundered 
his  anathema,  against  Henry  and  Anne,  unless  they  should 


FRIAR  PETTO. 


3:,o 

forthwith  separate,  and  declared  their  issue  illegitimate ;  and 
her  resentment  at  this  attack  led  Anne  to  favor,  in  some  de¬ 
gree,  the  rising  party  of  the  reformation.  But,  as  she  held  to 
the  doctrine  of  transubstantiation  and  to  the  entire  ritual  of 
the  Romish  church,  it  is  idle  to  call  her  a  Protestant.  Du¬ 
ring  her  period  of  ascendency,  moreover,  Frith,  Bilney,  and 
many  other  eminent  reformers,  perished  in  the  flames,  without 
her  making,  so  far  as  the  records  show,  the  smallest  effort  to 
rescue  them  ;  although,  says  Miss  Strickland,  justly,  “it  could 
not  have  been  harder  to  save  them,  than  to  destroy  her  politi¬ 
cal  adversaries.”  That  she  did  favor  and  patronize  Tindal’s 
translation  of  the  scripture  and  procure  for  it  Henry’s  sanction, 
and  that  she  was  liberal,  even  to  profusion,  in  her  charities,  is 
infinitely  to  her  credit.  I  would  willingly  admit  her  to  have 
been,  as  Miss  Benger  will  have  it  she  was,  an  earnest  pupil 
and  patroness  of  Latimer ;  but  I  find  that  she  quotes,  as  au¬ 
thority,  only  that  very  school  of  Protestant  writers,  who  have 
assumed  that,  because  she  was  the  original  cause  of  the  schism 
of  Rome,  Anne  was  herself  a  Lutheran,  and  “  a  most  sainted 
queen,  oflener  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet,” — an  assumption 
of  no  weight,  whatsoever,  and  utterly  controverted  by  all  ascer¬ 
tained  facts.  In  this  year,  Friar  Peyto  boldly  preached,  be¬ 
fore  the  face  of  Henry  and  his  new  bride,  in  the  royal  chapel,  at 
Greenwich,  denouncing  his  divorce  from  Katharine,  and  threat¬ 
ening  that  the  dogs  should  lick  his  blood,  as  they  had  done  that 
of  Ahab ;  a  prophecy,  which,  by  a  curious  chance,  was  ful 
filled,  no  less  than  that,  threatening  Anne  with  decapitation, 
m  case  of  her  supplanting  Katharine.  It  is,  perhaps,  yet  more 
curious,  that  Henry  only  laughed,  and  suppressed  the  monas¬ 
tery,  without  either  beheading  or  burning  the  monk.  About 
this  time,  it  is  certain,  that  a  great  change  came  over  Anne’s 


THE  CRUELTY  OF  COWARDICE. 


351 


conduct,  and  the  demeanor  of  her  /ourt  and  ladies ;  from  this 
time,  date  the  beautiful  tapestries  of  Hampton  Court,  which, 

1  think  it  is  sufficiently  authenticated,  are  the  work  of  her 
hands,  and  of  those  of  her  maidens ;  she  is  said,  also,  to  have 
labored  in  making  garments  for  the  poor ;  and  this  her  Prot¬ 
estant  biographers,  would  attribute  to  the  influence  of  Latimer 
and  Lutheranism.  I  ascribe  it  to  the  growing  indifference  of 
Ilenry,  which,  doubtless,  was  visible  to  his  wife,  who  had 
watched, with  interested  eyes, the  progress  of  the  same  feeling 
toward  her  predecessor ;  and  which  she  seems  to  have  attrib¬ 
uted  to  the  increasing  influence  of  her  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Nor¬ 
folk,  at  the  head  of  the  men  of  “the  old  learning,”  who  avow¬ 
edly  hated  her,  and  who  were  anxious,  as  she  fancied,  to  rein¬ 
state  Queen  Katharine  in  her  stead,  and  reconstruct  the  church 
of  the  ancient  religion. 

To  this  feeling  of  insecurity  and  apprehension,  more  than  to 
any  real  cruelty,  do  I  attribute  her  triumph,  odious  and  re¬ 
volting  as  it  was,  at  the  death  of  Katharine.  Katharine  had 
never  wronged  her ;  she  could  not,  therefore,  cherish  feelings 
of  resentment  or  hatred  against  Katharine.  But  she  feared 
her.  And  of  all  passions,  fear  is  the  most  cruel.  She  feared 
Wolsey,  Fisher,  More,  and,  fearing,  she  destroyed  them.  She 
feared  even  the  desolate  orphan,  Mary,  and  she  was  a  cruel 
stepmother  to  her. 

All  cruellest  of  men  have  been  cowards  —  Augustus,  Tibe¬ 
rius,  Nero,  Hebert,  Marat,  Robespierre  —  perhaps,  the  reason 
why  the  English  and  the  Americans  are  rarely,  if  ever,  cruel, 
is  because  they  are  rarely,  if  ever,  cowards.  I  believe,  I  hope, 
the  source  of  Anne  Boleyn’s  cruelty  was  her  cowardice. 

If  it  were,  she  was  mistaken.  She  dreaded  Katharine,  in 
ner  aguish  prison-castle  at  Ivimbolton;  she  overlooked  the 


352 


RETRIBUTION. 


/ 


r 


treacherous  handmaiden,  who  sat  on  her  husband’s  knee,  and 
kissed  his  lips  in  her  own  absence,  by  her  own  fireside.  She 
was  soon  to  find  her  out,  to  her  despair  and  ruin.  She  was 
at  the  height  of  her  hopes,  she  was  again  to  be  a  mother ;  if 
the  expected  heir  should  be  granted  to  her  prayers,  her  em¬ 
pire  over  her  Henry  was  assured  forever.  She  came  suddenly 
into  her  private  apartment,  and  there  she  found  Jane  Seymour, 
her  own  maid  of  honor,  supplanting  herself,  even  as  she  had 
supplanted  Katharine.  She  sate  in  Henry’s  lap,  caressing  and 
receiving  caresses.  Anne  burst  into  such  an  agony  of  hyster¬ 
ical  paroxysms,  that  Henry  himself  was  alarmed — not  for  the 
wretched  wife  of  whom  he  was  aweary,  but  for  the  unborn 
son,  for  which  he  longed  with  such  impotent  desire.  He 
called  her  “  sweetheart,”  he  bade  her  “  be  at  peace,  and  all 
should  go  well  with  her.”  But  it  was  too  late.  Peace  never 
again  came  near  to  her.  Agony  of  mind  brought  on  agony 
of  body.  Premature  travail  followed,  and,  after  undergoing 
much  anguish  and  infinite  danger,  she  bore  a  dead  son,  on  the 
29th  of  January,  who,  had  he  been  born  living,  would  have 
made  her  a  queen  indeed.  But  therein  it  was  seen,  how 


“  this  even-lianded  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  the  poisoned  elialico 
To  our  own  lips.” 


No  pity,  no  sympathy,  no  relic  of  once  ardent  love  touched 
^  the  cold,  cruel  despot.  He  burst  furiously  into  his  suffering 
wife’s  chamber,  and  savagely  upbraided  her  with  the  loss  of 
“  his  boy.” 

Rashly  and  angrily,  but,  surely,  on  sufficient  provocation, 
she  retorted,  that  “  the  fault  was  his  own,  if  he  were  disap¬ 
pointed  ;  for  the  loss  of  the  child  was  all  owing  to  her  distress 
of  mind,  about  that  wench,  Jane  Seymour.”  Henry’s  answer 


anne’s  joyless  pastimes. 


353 


was  worthy  of  him.  Few  other  men  were  ever  born  capable 
of  such  an  one.  “  She  should  have  no  more  boys  by  him ;  ’ 
he  said,  and  banged,  sullenly,  out  of  the  apartment. 

She  recovered  her  health  slowly,  but  she  knew  too  well  that 
her  influence  was  at  an  end.  “  When  she  found,”  says  Miss 
Strickland,  but  without  giving  her  authority,  “  that  she  had  no 
power  to  obtain  the  dismissal  of  her  rival  from  the  royal 
household,  she  became  very  melancholy,  and  withdrew  herself 
from  all  the  gayeties  of  the  court,  passing  her  time  in  the 
most  secluded  spots  of  Greenwich  park.  It  is  also  related, 
that  she  would  sit  for  hours  in  the  quadrangle  of  Greenwich 
palace,  in  silence  and  abstraction,  or  seeking  joyless  pastime 
in  playing  with  her  little  dogs,  and  setting  them  to  fight  with 
each  other.”  What  sadder  scene  can  fancy  conjure  up  than 
this  1  What  thoughts,  what  memories,  must  have  swept  over 
that  soul,  once  so  gay  and  thoughtless,  in  those  moments  of 
agony  1  How  little  was  her  mind  really  there,  with  the  sports 
or  the  quarrels  of  the  spaniels,  which  she  probably  felt  were 
the  only  things,  now  left  alive,  which  loved  her.  Her  original 
friend  and  patroness,  Mary  of  France,  the  sister  of  Henry, 
was  no  more ;  her  husband,  Suffolk,  is  assumed  by  all  the 
lady  biographers  of  this  hapless  queen,  to  have  been  her  en¬ 
emy,  though  I  must  aver,  that  I  have  found  no  evidence  of  the 
fact,  but  rather  presumption  of  the  reverse ;  since  his  insult  to 
Wolsey,  on  the  refusal  of  that  cardinal  to  pronounce  the  di¬ 
vorce  of  Katharine,  savors,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  of  good  will 
to  Anne.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  Lord  Thomas  Howard, 
of  Flodden  fame,  though  her  uncle,  was  notoriously  hostile  to 
her,  as  he  was  to  all  his  family,  who  had  countenanced  the 
claims  of  the  old  duchess  Agnes  of  Norfolk,  in  a  certain  fam¬ 
ily  feud  of  long  standing.  The  Lady  Rochefort  her  brother's 

23 


354 


COMMITTEE  OF  THE  PRIVY  COUNCIL. 


wife,  was,  it  does  not  appear  why,  her  deadly  enemy.  Even 
the  gentle  Surrey,  the  poet,  the  scholar,  the  lover  of  the  sweet 
and  graceful  Geraldine,  and  the  young  Duke  of  Richmond,  the 
king’s  illegitimate  son,  who  had  married  Anne’s  cousin,  the 
Lady  Mary  Howard,  were  ill-disposed  tow'ard  her.  Family 
feuds  had  broken  up  the  family  connection ;  and  it  appears 
that,  since  the  second  marriage  of  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  there 
had  been  little  friendship  or  cordiality  between  his  house  and 
that  of  his  first  wife’s  relations. 

Whatever  was  the  cause,  or  the  nature,  of  her  forebodings, 
they  were  soon  proved  to  be  too  true.  All  the  rest  is  horror, 
mystery, cruelty,  suppression  of  the  truth,  by  authority,  manufac¬ 
tured  evidence,  founded  on  perjury,  and  followed  by  judicial 
murder.  The  whole  is  inscrutable,  at  this  distance  of  time;  and 
it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  decide,  authoritatively,  in  the  ab¬ 
sence  of  all  responsible  testimony,  on  the  guilt  or  innocence 
of  the  parties.  All  that  can  be  done,  is  to  state  the  facts  of 
the  case,  the  nature  of  the  proceedings,  and  the  adumbrations 
of  suspicion,  for  there  is,  in  truth,  nothing  stronger  than  this, 
on  either  side,  by  which  to  judge  even  of  the  probabilities  of 
the  question. 

On  the  twenty-fourth  of  June,  a  secret  committee  of  the 
privy  council  was  assembled  to  inquire  into  the  charges  against 
the  queen ;  on  which  sate  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  her  uncle,  the 
Dukes  of  Suffolk  and  Richmond,  her  own  father,  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  her  former  lover,  and  some  of  the  judges. 
“  It  has  been  supposed  that  her  father  did  not  attend,”  says 
Miss  Strickland ;  but  who  supposes  it,  or  on  what  grounds, 
she  omits  to  state.  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  the 
presence  of  these  two  latter  noblemen,  who  certainly  were 
friendly  to  Anne,  on  the  committee,  does  not  look  like  an  at 


THE  EVIDENCE. 


355 


tempt  to  pack  a  jury  for  condemnation.  The  committee  re¬ 
ported,  that  there  was  cause  to  believe  her  guilty  of  inconti¬ 
nence  with  Brereton,  Weston,  Norris,  the  king’s  musician 
Smeaton,  and — what  is,  indeed,  incredible— with  her  own 
brother,  Rochefort,  against  whom  the  sole  testimony  was  his 
own  wife. 

What  follows,  becomes,  at  every  step,  more  embarrassing, 
more  incomprehensible ;  and  renders  it,  more  and  more,  diffi¬ 
cult  to  form  a  reasonable  opinion  as  to  the  guilt  or  innocence 
of  the  parties.  The  incredible  levity  and  familiarity,  toward 
parties  so  infinitely  below  her  station,  as  the  king’s  player  of 
virginals,  and  the  sufferance,  which  she  gave  to  him  and  others, 
of  talking  to  her  in  the  loosest  strain  of  gallantry,  would  argue 
strongly  against  Anne’s  chastity  ;  did  not  the  open  and  uncon¬ 
scious  carelessness,  with  which  she  herself  detailed  the  conver¬ 
sations,  render  it  almost  impossible  to  believe  that  any  woman, 
possessed  of  one  grain  of  understanding,  could,  if  guilty,  have 
been  mad  enough  so  to  criminate  herself. 

That  there  existed  nothing  resembling  legal  evidence  against 
her,  or  her  alleged  accomplices,  may  be  taken  for  granted  ; 
since,  if  any  had  existed,  it  would,  of  course,  have  been  pro¬ 
duced  publicly.  But  it  must  be  remembered,  that  the  rules 
of  law  were  not  enforced  in  those  days  as  now  —  that,  strong 
presumptions  were,  it  should  seem,  occasionally  allowed  to 
weigh  in  absence  of  direct  proof — and,  above  all,  that,  by  a 
strange  perversion  of  justice,  the  king’s  accusation,  alone,  was 
supposed  to  have,  per  se,  a  certain  preponderance,  for  which 
allowance  was  to  be  made.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  worthy 
of  rem  - rk,  that  not  one  of  the  men,  all  of  whom  died  before 
Anne,  and  consequently  whose  assertions  on  the  scaffold  might 
have  availed  something  to  save  the  hapless  lady’s  life,  and 


356 


CONFESSIONS  IN  EXTREMIS. 


would ,  undoubtedly,  have  gone  far  to  clear  her  reputation,  one 
of  them  being  her  own  brother,  accused  of  the  most  horrible 
and  unnatural  of  crimes,  said  one  word,  either  in  confession  or 
denial  of  his  guilt ;  unless  it  were  Mark  Smealon,  the  musician, 
whose  last  words  are  susceptible  of  a  double  meaning.  Again, 
Anne  herself,  died,  and  said  nothing  to  the  point,  although 
Kingston,  the  lieutenant  of  the  tower,  expected  that  she  would 
declare  herself  a  good  woman,  for  all  men,  but  for  the  king. 
She,  however,  also  died  silent,  either  of  confession  or  denial. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  intimidation,  or  persuasion,  might 
have  been  brought  to  bear  upon  the  fears  or  the  loyalty  of 
the  victims  ;  and  it  is  asserted  that  a  promise,  not  to  reclaim 
against  the  king’s  justice,  had  been  extorted  from  them,  which 
they  would  not  break  in  extremis.  Those  were  strange  times, 
I  readily  admit.  “  Henry  was  a  marvellous  man,  and  had 
marvellous  folk  about  him.”  But  I  cannot  give  credit  to 
such  an  absolute  anomaly  as  this.  To  persons,  under  sen¬ 
tence  of  inevitable  death,  there  can  be,  one  would  say,  no  far¬ 
ther  intimidation,  since  to  persons  of  rank,  torture  was  inad¬ 
missible.  To  persons,  wrongfully  convicted  of  base  and  un¬ 
natural  crimes,  there  could  be  no  persuasion,  or  sense  of  loy¬ 
alty,  so  strong,  as  to  overpower  just  resentment,  and  stifle  nat¬ 
ural  indignation.  To  gentlemen,  and  men  of  honor,  there 
could  be  no  stronger  feeling,  than  the  desire  to  rescue  a  beau¬ 
tiful,  innocent,  and  beloved  woman,  from  an  infamous  death 
and  a  dishonored  name. 

Lastly,  there  is  something  in  Henry’s  pertinacious,  deadly, 
and  insatiate  rage  against  Anne,  which  makes  it  difficult  to 
be  believed,  that  he  had  no  other  object  in  view  than  get 
rid  of  her.  When  Katharine  died,  he  wept ;  when  he  r.aJ 


DEATH  OF  ANNE. 


357 


freed  himself  from  his  links  matrimonial  with  “the  Flanders 
mare,”  Anne  of  Cloves,  he  treated  her  as  nearly  like  a  gentle¬ 
man  as  he  was  capable  of  doing,  and  maintained  always  a 
show  of  decorous  respect,  and  even  of  friendship,  toward  her ; 
when  he  had  discovered  that,  in  the  case  of  the  miserable 
Katharine  Howard,  he  had  been  subjected  to 

**  The  very  fiend's  arch  mock, 

To  lip  a  wanton  and  suppose  her  chaste,” 

he  would  not  have  shed  her  blood,  would  she  have  allowed 
him,  by  confessing  a  precontract,  to  obtain  a  divorce,  without 
proving  her  guilty  of  adultery. 

But  in  the  case  of  Anne  Boleyn,  when  either  the  divorce,  or 
the  death,  would  have  sufficed  to  set  him  free,  he  must  wreak 
on  her  the  agonies  of  both  ;  he  must  mutilate  her  sweet  body, 
annihilate  her  fair  fame,  declare  her  not  merely  an  adulteress, 
but  incestuous,  and  bastardize  her  innocent  child,  even  while 
he  admitted  it  to  be  his  own  —  and  all  this,  at  the  expense  of 
so  glaring  an  inconsistency,  if  he  had  ever  stickled  much  for 
consistency,  as  the  slaying  a  woman  for  adultery,  alleged  to 
be  committed  in  breach  of  a  marriage,  which  was  declared,  in 
the  same  breath,  never  to  have  existed  at  all,  being  null,  void, 
and  of  no  effect  from  the  beginning. 

On  the  day  of  her  murder,  he  donned  his  gayest  garb,  and 
sat  waiting  the  firing  of  the  fatal  gun  and  the  hoisting  of  the 
black  flag,  which  should  announce  her  death,  on  an  eminence, 
in  Richmond  park,  commanding  a  distant  view  of  those  “tow¬ 
ers  of  Julius,  London’s  lasting  shame,”  and  when  the  signal 
shot  was  fired,  bade  them  uncouple  the  hounds,  and  away  !  to 
a  fresher,  if  not  a  fairer  bride. 

In  everything  save  the  wildest  and  most  raving  madness,  there 


358 


THE  FIRST  CHARGES. 


is  some  touch  of  method  ;  here,  there  is  not  a  glimpse,  even  of 
reason.  Even  the  tiger,  when  he  is  neither  crossed  nor  hungered, 
ceases  to  slay.  Even  Henry  VIII.,  though,  verily,  he  spared 
neither  man  in  his  anger  nor  woman  in  his  lust,  though  he  reck- 
lessly  crushed  everything  which  crossed  his  path,  which  excited 
his  apprehensions,  provoked  his  wrath,  or  opposed  itself  to  his 
pleasures,  he  never,  so  far  as  1  can  find,  killed  for  the  mere  love 
of  killing.  Anne  he  certainly  loved  once,  and  unless,  at  least, 
he  suspected  a  cause,  one  does  not  see  why  he  should  hate  her 
with  a  hatred  to  be  satiated  only  by  such  a  vengeance,  even  if 
he  were  aweary  of  her.  Of  the  rest,  the  reader  can  judge  as 
well  as  the  historian. 

On  the  twenty-eighth  of  April,  the  committee  reported  on 
the  charges,  and  sent  Brereton  to  the  tower.  Several  days  be¬ 
fore  this,  Anne  would  appear  to  have  had  some  intimation  of 
what  was  in  the  wind  ;  for  she  gave  a  solemn  charge  to  her 
chaplain,  Mathew  Parker,  in  regard  to  the  religious  education 
of  her  daughter,  Elizabeth,  which  that  good  man  spoke  of,  in 
that  daughter’s  reign,  as  binding  him  with  a  most  solemu 
obligation. 

On  the  30th — this,  be  it  understood,  on  her  own  showing — 
when  she  foresaw  the  coming  storm,  she  saw  Mark  Smcaton, 
who,  for  his  musical  skill,  had  been  promoted  to  be  her  groom 
of  the  chamber,  standing  melancholy  and  musing,  in  one  of  the 
windows  of  her  presence  chamber.  In  this  position,  she  went 
up  to  him,  and  asked  him  “why  he  was  so  sad.”  “It  is  no 
matter,”  he  replied ;  but,  unless  she  had  admitted  it  herself, 
no  one  could  believe  that  she  would  have  had  the  incredible 
folly  to  say — “  You  may  not  look  to  have  me  speak  to  you  as 
if  you  were  a  nobleman,  because  you  be  an  inferior  person.” 
Or  that  he  should  have  replied  to  his  queen,  and  that  queen 


THE  FIRST  CHARGES. 


359 


Henry’s,  unless  there  had  been  much  previous  encouragement, 
“  No,  no,  madam.  A  look  sufficeth  me.” 

On  May-day,  there  was  a  great  jousting  match  at  Green¬ 
wich,  in  which  Rochefort  was  the  principal  challenger,  and 
Henry  Norris  one  of  the  defenders.  The  pageant  was  unusu¬ 
ally  splendid,  Anne  being  there,  for  the  last  time,  in  state,  as 
queen,  beside  her  savage  lord.  Suddenly  he  rose,  in  the  midst 
of  the  sports,  with  a  furious  visage,  left  his  balcony,  and  took 
his  way  homeward,  attended  by  six  confidential  attendants, 
among  whom  was  Norris,  though  he  had  been  previously  ar 
rested  at  the  barriers,  for  high  treason,  together  with  Roche 
fort,  and  Sir  Francis  Weston. 

There  is  a  tale  mentioned  by  Lord  Herbert  of  Chcrbury, 
but  by  him  disallowed,  as  of  slight  authority,  to  the  effect,  that 
the  king’s  rage  was  excited  by  the  dropping  of  the  queen’s 
kerchief  into  the  lists,  which  Norris  picked  up,  and,  after  wiping 
his  face  with  it,  returned  on  his  lance’s  point.  I  discard  it  ut¬ 
terly — not  because  it  is  wholly  improbable,  and  at  variance 
with  the  manners  of  the  time ;  though  that  were  cause  enough. 
But  because  it  conflicts  with  ascertained  facts.  The  charges 
were  before  the  privy  council,  six  days  before  the  alleged 
discovery. 

Anne  remained  at  Greenwich,  unconscious,  says  Miss  Strick 
land  —  though  that  can  hardly  be — of  what  had  occurred, 
until  the  following  day,  when  she  was  arrested  at  the  din¬ 
ner  table  by  Kingston,  the  lieutenant  of  the  tower,  and  con¬ 
veyed  to  that  gloomy  fortress,  where  she  was  lodged  in  the 
apartment  which  she  had  occupied  on  her  coronation  night, 
in  riding  home  from  Greenwich,  it  appears  that  the  king 
conversed  apart  with  Norris  during  the  whole  ride,  endeav¬ 
oring  to  induce  him  to  obtain  mercy,  by  the  confession  of 


IN  THE  TOWER. 


his  guilt.  Miss  Strickland  positively  asserts  that  he  denit  d 
it,  and  stoutly  refused,  to  the  end,  to  criminate  the  queen.  Lin- 
gard,  on  the  other  hand,  states,  that  on  examination  before  the 
privy  council,  Norris,  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  Sir  William 
Fitzwilliam,  did  confess — of  this  Lord  Herbert  states  nothing, 
nor  can  I  discover  the  authority  on  which  either  statement  is 
made.  Smeaton,  undoubtedly,  did  confess;  but  it  is  almost 
certain,  that  he  did  so  under  the  rack,  which  could,  at  that 
time,  be  legally  used  on  persons  of  his  condition. 

Every  illegal  means  were  used  to  extort  evidence,  and  to  en¬ 
trap  the  unfortunate  queen  into  admissions  which  might  serve 
in  lieu  of  testimony  against  her ;  she  was  surrounded  in  her 
prison-house  by  lady  spies,  who  impudently  cross-examined 
her,  and  then  conveyed  to  Cromwell  the  smallest  word  she  ut¬ 
tered  ;  even  her  passionate  exclamations  of  grief  and  broken 
interjections,  were  watched  and  noted,  to  be  used  against  her. 
Thus  we  have  no  minutes  of  the  proceedings,  no  notes  of  the 
evidence,  no  positive  knowledge  of  what  crime,  whether  adul¬ 
tery,  or  compassing  the  death  of  the  king,  she  was  found  guilty, 
though  it  appears  probable  it  was  on  the  latter  ground — and 
in  respect  of  the  reasons  why  her  marriage  was  pronounced 
null,  and  of  no  effect  from  the  beginning,  we  only  know  that 
the  act  of  divorce  bears  in  itself  the  record,  that  those  reasons 
are  to  be  taken  for  granted,  as  if  they  were  therein  recited. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  we  have  every  casual  word  which  she 
let  fall,  or  which  was  extorted  from  her  by  impertinent  and 
intrusive  cross-questioning,  duly  transmitted  on  the  page  of 
history. 

It  is  only  clear,  that  she  was  in  extreme  perturbation  of 
mind,  now  in  the  highest  exaltation  of  levity,  now  in  the  depth 
of  dejection,  now  declaring  that  some  great  calamity  should 


anne’s  admissions. 


SGI 


befall  the  country,  and  now  that  no  more  rain  should  fall  in 
England,  if  she  were  put  to  death.  Now  laughing  wildly,  and 
jesting  hysterically,  but  still  declaring  that  she  was  a  good 
woman,  to  all  but  the  king,  and  that  whoever  might  accuse  her 
she  could  only  say,  “Nay  !  nay  !  nay  !  and  they  had  no  wit¬ 
nesses.”  At  one  time  she  would  express  a  childish  interest  in 
the  prisoners,  asking  if  “  they  had  any  one  to  make  up  their 
beds  for  them  ;  ”  and  then  again  would  reproach  them  in  their 
absence,  for  confessing  against  her — Norris  more  especially — 
which  gives  some  cause  to  believe  that  he  did  confess ;  and. 
lastly,  she  would  complain,  that  they  should  all  die,  together, 
on  a  false  charge.  The  strongest  things  brought  against  her 
are  her  own  admissions,  to  the  prying  ladies,  who  were  em¬ 
ployed  to  entrap  her.  Mrs.  Cosyns,  it  seems,  asked  her  “  how 
Norris  had  come  to  say,  to  her  almoner,  on  last  Saturday,  that 
he  could  swear  that  the  queen  was  a  good  woman?”  “Marry,” 
said  Anne,  “I  told  him  to  do  so,  for  I  asked  him  why  he  did 
not  go  on  with  his  marriage,  and  he  made  reply,  that  he  would 
tarry  awhile.  ‘  Then,’  said  I,  ‘  you  look  for  dead  men’s 
shoes,  if  aught  but  good  should  come  to  the  king,  you  would 
look  to  have  me.’  Then  he  denied  it,  and  I  told  him  1  could 
undo  him,  if  I  would;  and  then  we  fell  out.”  In  the  like  man¬ 
ner,  she  admitted  that  she  had  told  Weston,  “  that  he  did  love 
her  kinswoman,  Mrs.  Skelton,  and  did  not  love  his  wife,  and  he 
answered  her  again,  ‘  that  he  loved  one  in  her  house  better 
than  them  both?’  She  asked  him  ‘who?’  to  which  he  replied, 
‘yourself,’  when  she  defied  him.”  _ 

It  is  true  that  this  is  not,  legally,  evidence  at  all ;  most  of 
all,  not  evidence  of  adultery;  it  should  be,  however,  remem¬ 
bered,  that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  was  condemned,  for  com¬ 
passing  the  king’s  death,  merely  on  account  of  words  spoken, 
P 


362 


anne’s  trial. 


much  to  the  same  effect — between  compassing  and  contempla 
ting,  little  distinction  was  drawn.  Unless  it  be  on  Smeaton’s 
confession  under  the  rack,  it  is  probably  on  this  ground  that 
she  was  convicted,  by  her  own  admissions ;  and  her  sentence 
“  to  be  burnt,”  seems  to  corroborate  this,  such  being  the  pen¬ 
alty  for  petty  treason. 

Idle  inferior  culprits  were  tried  first,  and  all  sentenced ; 
Stneaton  to  be  hanged,  and  the  others  beheaded.  On  the  10th 
of  May,  Rochefort  and  Anne  were  brought  up  to  trial  before 
twenty -three  peers,  selected  as  triers,  out  of  the  whole  number 
of  fifty-six,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  being  lord  high  steward,  and 
Lord  Surrey,  deputy  earl  marshal.  The  Earl  of  Northum¬ 
berland  was  one  of  the  triers,  but  he  was,  or  affected  to  be, 
taken  ill,  before  the  arraignment  of  Lord  Rochefort,  and  was 
not  present  at  the  trial  of  his  old  love.  This  1  do  not  regard 
as  wearing  a  fair  aspect  for  Anne’s  innocence.  It  looks  as  if 
he  felt  that  he  should  not  be  able  to  acquit  in  honor ;  and  as  if 
through  feeling, he  would  not  be  present  to  convict. 

All  that  is  known  beyond  this  is,  that  Rochefort  defended 
himself  eloquently  and  with  spirit,  but  was  convicted  on  the 
evidence  of  his  own  wife,  who  had  once  seen  him  lean  over  the 
queen’s  bed,  and  kiss  her.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the 
queen  was  his  sister.  On  this  evidence,  he  was  convicted  of 
adultery  and  high  treason,  and  condemned  to  die. 

So  soon  as  he  was  found  guilty,  Anne  was  called  into  court, 
held  up  her  hand,  and  pleaded  not  guilty,  without  the  least 
emotion.  She  defended  herself  with  so  much  courage,  wit  and 
eloquence,  that  it  was  rumored,  without  the  court,  that  she  was 
sure  of  a  triumphant  acquittal ;  but  it  proved  not  to  be  so. 
She,  too,  on  what  evidence  we  know  not,  was  found  guilty  of 
what  crime  we  know  not,  and  was  sentenced  to  be  beheaded 


EXECUTIONS. 


3G3 


or  burnt,  at  the  king’s  pleasure,  receiving  the  decree  of  doom 
with  unmoved  dignity  and  spirit. 

On  the  16th  of  May,  the  male  prisoners  all  died,  firmly, 
and  after  this  wise — Smeaton,  before  he  was  hanged,  said, 
“  Masters,  I  pray  you  all,  pray  for  me ;  I  have  deserved  the 
death ;  ”  leaving  it  in  doubt,  whether  he  would  say  for  that 
crime,  or  for  offences  in  general.  Norris  died,  obstinately  si¬ 
lent.  Rochefort  entreated  the  spectators  to  live  according  to 
the  gospel ;  but  uttered  no  word  in  reference  to  the  charge  for 
which  he  came  to  die.  Weston  deplored  his  folly  in  having 
given  his  youth  to  sin,  and  deferred  repentance  to  old  age. 
Brereton  used  these  words :  “  I  have  deserved  to  die,  if  it  were 
a  thousand  deaths,  but  the  cause  wherefore  I  die,  judge  ye  not. 
If  ye  judge,  judge  for  the  best.” 

Anne  was  respited  until  the  19th,  in  order  that  she  might 
give  evidence  before  Cranmer’s  court — Cranmer,  who  had  pro¬ 
nounced  her  predecessor’s  marriage  null  and  void,  and  con¬ 
firmed  her  own,  as  valid,  and  manifest  by  his  own  authority, 
pastoral  and  judicial ;  and  who  was  now  prepared  to  declare  it, 
also,  null  from  the  beginning.  It  has  never  been  shown  what 
was  the  cause,  admitted  by  Anne,  which  rendered  her  mar¬ 
riage  void,  or  what  induced  her  to  make  the  admission,  which 
deprived  her  daughter  of  the  right  of  succession.  The  induce¬ 
ment  to  Anne  was,  it  cannot,  I  think,  be  doubted,  the  commu¬ 
tation  of  the  penalty  from  burning  to  beheading.  The  cause 
was  not  her  precontract  to  Percy,  for  he  had  sworn  before,  and 
now  repeated  his  oath,  that  such  a  precontract  had  never  ex¬ 
isted.  Dr.  Lingard  has  proved  to  my  satisfaction,  beyond  the 
possibility  of  contradiction*  that  it  was  Henry’s  own  ante-con¬ 
nubial  cohabitation  with  Mary,  Anne’s  younger  sister,  though 

»  See  voL  vi.,  p.  247.  End  of  vol.  vi.,  note  K. 


364 


NULLITY  OF  ANNE*S  MARRIAGE. 


that  cohabitation  was  illicit,  which  constituted  his  marriage 
with  the  elder  sister  incestuous.  It  was  exactly  the  case  of 
Katharine  reversed.  She,  it  was  alleged,  had  lived  with  two 
brothers  in  succcession,  as  man  and  wife.  And,  though  law- 
fully  married,  and  by  a  regular  dispensation  obtained,  her  mar¬ 
riage  was  set  aside  as  incestuous.  In  this  case  he  had  himself 
lived  with  two  sisters,  the  first  as  his  concubine,  the  second  as 
his  wife  ;  and  this  fact  rendered  his  marriage  with  Anne,  on  the 
same  grounds  as  that  with  Katharine,  incestuous,  illegal,  and 
void  from  the  beginning. 

On  the  nineteenth  day  of  May,  Anne  came  forth  to  die,  ar¬ 
rayed  in  a  dress  of  black  damask,  and,  as  it  is  said,  resplen¬ 
dent  with  more  than  her  wonted  beauty.  She  had  sent  Lady 
Kingston,  on  the  day  preceding  her  death,  to  ask  pardon  on 
her  knees  of  the  Princess  Mary,  for  all  the  wrongs  she  had 
ever  done  her ;  and  she  had  displayed  such  buoyant  cheerful¬ 
ness  of  disposition,  that  she  elicited  from  Kingston  this  remark, 
in  his  letter  to  Cromwell — “  I  have  seen  many  men  and  wo¬ 
men  executed,  and  they  have  been  in  great  sorrow ;  and  to 
my  knowledge,  this  lady  hath  much  joy  and  pleasure  in  her 
death.” 

She  did  not,  however,  fulfill  his  expectation  of  professing 
her  innocence,  but,  after  some  general  confessions  of  unworthi¬ 
ness  and  as  general  praises  of  her  cruel  husband,  performed 
her  devotions,  took  leave  of  her  ladies,  gave  her  missal,  as  a 
last  token,  to  her  friend,  Mistress  Lee,  sister  of  her  old  admi¬ 
rer,  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt,  who  remained  with  her  to  the  last, 
and  then,  with  calm  and  cheerful  intrepidity,  gave  herself  up 
to  the  executioner. 

It  had  been  a  strange  caprice  of  Henry,  that  she  should  be 
beheaded  with  a  sword,  and  not  with  an  axe,  as  usual ;  and,  for 


HER  DEATH. 


3G5 


that  purpose,  the  executioner  from  Calais,  said  to  be  a  fellow 
of  rare  9kill  in  his  bloody  trade,  had  been  imported,  to  deal 
the  fatal  blow.  Anne,  it,  is  said,  refused  a  bandage  ;  and  tra¬ 
dition  records  that  the  melting  tenderness  of  her  eyes  disarmed 
the  professional  butcher,  until  casting  off  his  shoes,  he  stole  be¬ 
hind  his  fair  victim,  and  terminated  her  sorrows  at  a  single 
blow.  It  has  been  recorded  by  Spelman,  that,  when  the  head, 
yet  bleeding,  was  held  aloft  by  the  executioner,  the  eyes  and 
lips  were  seen  to  quiver,  and  the  former  to  regard,  with  mourn¬ 
ful  tenderness,  the  body  from  which  they  were  so  cruelly  dis¬ 
severed  ;  this,  however,  savors  of  romance  more  than  of  so¬ 
ber  truth.  Her  remains  were  thrust,  with  indecent  haste,  into 
an  old  oak  chest,  which  had  formerly  contained  arrows,  and 
are  said  to  have  been  interred  in  the  tower,  with  no  religious 
ceremonies.  But  Wyatt  asserts,  in  terms  which  have  led 
many  to  believe  that  he  was  himself  privy  to  their  removal,  that 
they  were  taken  thence  by  night  and  laid  in  hallowed  earth. 
It  is  worthy  of  remark,  as  in  some  sort  confirming  this  tale, 
that  in  two  several  churches,  that  of  Thornden  on  the  Hill, 
in  Essex,  and  that  of  Salle,  in  Norfolk,  both  contiguous  to  es¬ 
tates,  owned  by  Boleyns,  there  are  two  nameless  slabs  of  black 
marble,  without  inscriptions  or  armorial  bearings,  under  each  of 
which  are  believed  to  lie  all  the  mortal  remains  of  the  beau¬ 
tiful  queen.  The  popular  traditions,  both  of  which  cannot, 
neither  of  which  may,  be  true,  seem  to  indicate  a  concealed 
knowledge,  among  the  vassals  of  the  house  of  Bolcyn,  that 
the  body  was,  in  fact,  abstracted  from  the  tower,  and  placed 
in  holy  ground,  though  the  place  of  interment  may  well  have 
been  concealed,  or  its  site  forgotten. 

To  those  who  believe  in  true  love  sympathies,  and  deaths 
by  broken  hearts,  it  may  be  interesting  to  know,  that  the  two 


366 


THE  TALE  IS  TOLD. 


persons  who  most  truly  loved  this  young  and  interesting  wo 
man,  perhaps,  the  only  two,  who  ever  truly  loved  her,  Wy¬ 
att  and  Northumberland,  both  followed  her  to  the  tomb  within 
four  little  months. 

A  beautiful  contrast  this,  to  die  brutal,  bloated  tyrant,  wait¬ 
ing,  on  his  eager  horse,  with  his  huntsmen  and  his  hounds 
around  him,  until  the  dull  roar  of  the  culverin,  booming  down 
the  wind,  should  tell  him  that  the  lovely  form,  which  had  so 
often  slept  softly  on  his  bosom,  was  now  a  mutilated  mass 
of  gory  clay,  and  then,  amid  the  blase  of  bugles  and  the  bay 
of  bloodhounds,  the  clash  of  spur  and  stirrup,  and  all  the  clang 
and  clatter  of  the  chase,  away  to  the  nuptial  orgies,  at  Wolf 
Ilall  in  Wiltshire,  away  to  the  more  recent  toy,  the  newer, 
not  the  lovelier  or  the  younger  bride,  the  vain  and  treacherous 
Jane  Seymour. 

The  tale  is  told.  Such  were  her  charms,  her  graces,  her 
faults,  her  follies — such  were  her  sorrows  and  her  sufferings. 
What  were  her  sins,  or  if  she,  indeed,  had  any,  rests  between 
her  and  her  Maker.  There  let  it  rest.  I  cannot  pronounce 
her  guilty,  I  may  not  declare  her  innocent.  I  will  not  believe 
her  the  former  until  she  is  proved  to  be  so.  But  there  is  noth¬ 
ing  to  forbid  the  chariest  to  shed  a  tear  over  her  memory.  If 
she  were  innocent,  she  was  unhappy;  if  guilty,  she  was  doubly 
so.  If  nothing  in  her  life  became  her  like  the  leaving  cf  it,  at 
least  that  became  her  well.  A  tear  for  Anne  Boleyn. 


JANE  SEYMOUR 


MARRIED,  1536;  DIED,  1537. 


The  doom, 

Heaven,  givos  its  favorites,  early  death. 

Byron,  Childe  Harold, 
This  fair  child  of  miDO, 

Shall  sum  my  count,  and  make  my  old  excuse. 

SuAKSPEARu,  Second  Sonnet 


JANE  SEYMOUR. 


BORN,  1501-'7 - MARRIED,  1536 - DECEASED,  1537 


The  doom, 

Heaven  gives  its  favorites,  early  death. 

Rrp.ON. 

This  fair  child  of  mine, 

Shall  sum  my  count,  and  be  my  old  excuse. 

Suakspeaee. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

“  But  this  queen  certainly  deserved  all  the  favor  done  her, 
as  being  the  discreetest,  fairest,  and  humblest  of  the  king’s 
wives  •  though  both  Queen  Katharine  in  her  younger  days,  and 
the  late  queeu  were  not  easily  paralleled.”  So  says  Cord  Her¬ 
bert  of  Cherbury,  following,  as  his  words  show,  the  judgment 
he  found  expressed  by  others,  not  rendering  his  own.  It  does 
not  surprise  me,  I  confess,  that  Miss  Strickland  waxes  wroth, 
at  this  passage,  which  she  takes,  though  she  misquotes  it,  even 
as  I  have  taken  it,  for  the  exordium  of  her  memoir  of  this 
queen’s  life.  For  it  is,  indeed,  no  easy  matter  to  discover 
wherein  lay  her  extreme  discretion,  unless  it  be  in  her  conduct 
subsequent  to  her  marriage  with  the  king.  As  to  her  beauty, 
>t  is  in  no  wise  comparable  to  that  of  Anne  Boleyn,  or  of  the 
unfortunate  Katharine  Howard,  if  Holbein’s  picture  in  the 
Windsor  collection,  with  which  I  am  familiar,  be  a  likeness  , 
P*  24 


.  370 


BLOOD  OF  THE  SEYMOURS. 


nor  to  that  of  Katharine  of  Arragon,  at  Versailles,  if  it  be  cor 
rectly  described  by  Miss  Strickland,  who  also  mentions  a  far 
lovelier  portrait  of  the  Seymour  in  the  Louvre,  probably 
painted  at  an  earlier  period  in  life,  than  the  Windsor  likeness. 
Handsome,  however,  she  must  undoubtedly  have  been,  for 
Henry  knew  well  what  beauty  was,  both  in  man  and  woman  ; 
and  this  lady  won  him  away  from  the  all-admired  Boleyn,  who  to 
beauty  united  wit,  grace  and  every  accomplishment;  while 
this,  her  successful  rival,  so  far  as  one  can  judge,  with  perhaps 
the  single  exception  of  Anne  of  Cleves,  whose  only  arts,  like 
those  of  the  king-maker’s  daughters,  were  to  spin  and  to  be 
chaste,  was  the  least  highly  educated  and  refined  of  all  the 
king’s  wives. 

Humble,  God  wot ! — as  the  fair  Boleyn’s  royal  daughter 
would  have  been  apt  to  say — she  might  well  be,  since  not  only 
did  she  lack  the  casrulean  blood,  sangre  azul ,  of  Spain,  which 
coursed  in  the  thrice  noble  veins  of  the  Arragonese  infanta; 
not  only  was  she  unable  to  show  such  hot  and  high  blood  as 
that  which  flowed  from  the  Howards  and  Ormouds,  through 
the  arteries  of  the  murdered  Boleyn ;  but,  though  the  Sey 
mours  were  unquestionably  of  gentle  Norman  origin,  she  could 
point  to  no  ancestor  who  had  ever  gained  historic  name,  nor  to 
one  of  her  own  family,  who  had  risen  to  higher  rank  in  his 
own  county  of  W  iltshire,  than  that  of  sheriff  of  the  county, 
no  one  of  the  name  having  been  ever  returned  knight  of  the 
shire.  To  compensate  this,  however,  a  fictitious  pedigree  was 
trumped  up,  by  which  a  royal  descent  is  claimed  for  Jane 
and  her  descendants,  on  the  side  of  her  mother,  Margaret 
W entworth  ;  inasmuch  as  an  antique  W eutworth  had  intermar¬ 
ried  with  a  Lady  Percy,  daughter  of  Hotspur,  and  grand¬ 
daughter  of  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence.  To  give  a  color  to  this, 


TIME  OF  BIRTH. 


371 


Cranmer  went  through  the  farce  of  granting  a  dispensation, 
for  nearness  of  kin  between  Henry  VIII.  and  Jane;  though  it 
is  notorious  that  the  Lady  Percy  in  question  died  without  is¬ 
sue,  and  that,  even,  had  the  pedigree  been  true,  the  bridegroom 
and  bride  would  only  have  been  cousins  in  the  fifth  degree, 
which  is  without  the  scale  of  prohibited  affinity. 

Miss  Strickland,  however,  who  is  admirable  authority  as  to 
matters  heraldic,  and  who  has,  under  favor  be  it  spoken,  the 
nose  of  one  of  her  own  northern  sleuth-hounds  for  a  disputed 
pedigree,  well  observes  that,  if  the  royal  kindred  be  doubtful, 
the  plebeian  blood  is  not  so.  For  it  is  undeniable,  that,  by 
this  alliance,  the  sovereign  of  England  gained  one  brother-in- 
law,  whose  name  was  Smith,  and  another  whose  grandfather 
was,  actually,  a  blacksmith  at  Putney — Jane’s  sister,  Eliza¬ 
beth,  had  married  the  son  of  the  minister,  Cromwell,  whose 
origin  was  well  known  ;  and  her  sister,  Dorothy,  was  the  wife 
of  Sir  Clement  Smith,  of  Little  Baddow,  in  Essex. 

Whether  the  Seymours  had  cause  to  be  humble  or  no,  it  is 
very  clear  to  me  that  the  Smiths  had  cause  to  be  proud  of 
this  alliance ;  their  name  was  manfestly  in  the  ascendant. 

Jane  Seymour  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Sir  John  Seymour 
of  Wolf  Hall,  Wiltshire  ;  she  was  almost  exactly  of  the  same 
age  as  Anne  Boleyn,  which  I  have  set  down,  at  the  head  of 
her  life,  as  dating  variously  from  1501  to  1507.  This  I  have 
done,  because  both  years  are  assigned  to  her  birth,  by  writers 
of  credit,  though  I  doubt  not,  in  the  least,  for  reasons  rendered 
in  the  text,  that  the  earlier  is  the  correct  time,  and  that  Anne 
was  at  least  thirty-two,  when  she  was  married,  if  not  in  her 
thirty-third  year,  and  thirty -six  at  the  time  of  her  decapitation. 
Jane  is  unanimously  allowed  to  have  been  the  eldest  daughter 
of  her  father,  who  had  eight  children,  one  of  whom,  a  son, 


372 


riCTURES  OF  THE  MAIDS  OF  HONOR. 


younger  consequently  than  Jane,  was  one  of  the  children  of 
honor  to  Mary  of  England,  when  Anne  Boleyn  accompanied 
that  princess  to  France. 

She  could  not,  therefore,  have  been  much  younger  than 
Anne,  who,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  but  fourteen,  at  the 
time  of  her  going  abroad.  Miss  Strickland  produces  plausible 
reasons  for  believing  that,  although  in  the  first  instance  Jane 
was  not  maid  of  honor  to  Mary,  she  was  probably  herself  in 
the  train,  and  one  of  those  younger  girls  who  were  permitted 
to  remain,  when  the  elder  attendants  were  dismissed ;  and 
that  she  was  subsequently  promoted  to  the  same  rank  with 
Anne.  Her  reasons  for  this  conjecture  are  more  than  con¬ 
jectural  ;  the  picture,  above  alluded  to,  in  the  Louvre,  which 
our  authoress  confidently  affirms,  from  its  likeness  to  the  more 
youthful  English  portraits  of  Jane,  which  are  well  ascertained 
to  be  no  other  than  this  lady,  is  entitled,  in  the  French  gallery, 
“  Maid  of  honor  to  Marie  d'Angleterre,  queen  of  Louis  XII.” 
It  hangs,  moreover,  as  a  pendant  to  a  magnificent  full  length 
portrait  of  Anne  Boleyn,  likewise  entitled,  “  Maid  of  honor  to 
the  queen  of  Louis  XII.”  “  These  two  well  known  portraits,” 
she  adds,  “  are  clad  in  the  same  costume,  though  varied  in  or¬ 
naments  and  color.  They  are  not  now  recognized  in  France 
as  queens  of  England,  but  as  companion  suivantes  of  an  En¬ 
glish  princess,  queen  of  France.”  It  represents  a  beautiful,  full- 
formed  woman  of  nineteen  or  twenty. 

It  may  be  added,  that  the  English  portraits  of  Queen  Jane 
Seymour,  which  appear  to  represent  a  faded  and  delicate  vale¬ 
tudinarian  of  three  or  four-and-thirty,  have  enough  of  the  char 
acter  of  the  younger  heads,  to  satisfy  any  observer  of  the  iden¬ 
tity  of  the  persons  delineated. 

Of  no  person,  probably,  whc  afterward  became  queen  of 


TRADITIONARY  STORY. 


373 


England  is  so  little  known,  as  of  this  most  fortunate  of  Henry’s  v-  ' 
wives — most  fortunate,  perhaps,  because  so  little  is  known.  It 
cannot  even  be  ascertained,  how  she  became,  in  the  first  in¬ 
stance,  Anne’s  maid  of  honor.  It  is  not  improbable,  that  she 
came  to  her,  as  an  appendage  to  the  crown,  from  her  own  sup¬ 
planted  predecessor  ;  that  she  entered  Katharine’s  service  with 
her,  on  their  return  from  France  ;  and  learned,  from  observa¬ 
tion  of  her  own  manoeuvres,  the  art  of  supplanting  queens  in 
the  affection  of  their  lords. 

I  am  not  prone  to  take  things  for  granted  in  history,  or  to 
presume  possibilities  into  probabilities,  and  then  assume  prob¬ 
abilities  as  facts.  But  in  (his  case,  the  coincidence  of  ages,  of 
the  pictures  of  the  maids  of  honor  to  the  same  French  queen, 
and  the  conjuncture  of  the  same  two  women,  as  successive  maids 
of  honor  in  the  English  court,  appear  to  justify  a  little  stretch 
of  the  imagination.  For  all  that  we  positively  know  of  Jane 
Seymour,  her  first  appearance  on  the  historic  stage  is  at  the 
moment  when  she  is  found  sitting  on  Henry’s  knee,  utterly 
regardless  of  all  the  decencies  and  delicacies,  which  one  would 
expect  to  fmd  in  a  young  woman  of  gentle  blood  and  nature, 
yet  not  so  young  withal,  as  to  be  ignorant  of  the  proprieties  of 
the  world. 

How  far  her  indecorous  conduct  was  carried,  we  have  no 
means  of  knowing.  Its  duration  was  probably  not  long ;  for 
the  effect  of  the  discovery  of  her  vileness  on  Anne’s  unborn 
offspring,  and  consequently  on  Anne’s  hold  on  the  king’s  af¬ 
fections,  gave  her  the  victory  at  once.  There  is  a  story,  tra¬ 
ditionally  told  by  both  Miss  Aiken  and  Miss  Strickland, 
though  admitted  to  rest  on  no  authority,  that  Anne  first  dis¬ 
covered  the  intrigue  of  her  maid  with  her  husband,  from  de¬ 
tecting  a  miniature  of  the  king  hanging  about  her  neck  •  but 


374 


THE  CAUSES  OF  HER  GOOD  REPORT. 


this  I  discard,  as  I  did,  in  the  life  of  Anne  Boleyn,  the  legend 
of  the  discovery  of  her  guilt  by  the  dropping  of  her  kerchief 
in  the  lists  at  Greenwich,  because  it  manifestly  conflicts  with 
ascertained  facts.  If  Anne  had  been  aware  that  there  were 
love  passages  between  Henry  and  Jane,  she  would  not  have 
been  surprised,  or  thrown  into  hysterical  paroxysms  and  pre¬ 
mature  labor  by  finding  the  maid  of  honor  sitting  on  his  knee. 
It  was  the  first  shock  of  knowing  herself  supplanted,  and  the 
perfect  certainty  of  what  was  to  follow,  that  overcame  her. 
The  first  suspicion  awakened,  the  rest  follows,  of  course  ;  and 
Anne  had  doubtless  sat  many  times  too  often  on  Henry’s 
knee  herself,  while  Katharine  was  queen,  to  doubt  that  such 
was  the  natural,  if  not  the  necessary,  consequence,  of  once  ad¬ 
mitting  his  addresses. 

How  long  after  the  disgraceful  discovery  Jane  remained  at 
court,  is  nowhere  told,  but  long  enough  beyond  doubt  to  wit¬ 
ness  the  ruin  of  her  unhappy  rival’s  last  hope,  for  we  know  that, 
after  her  tedious  convalescence,  there  was  a  struggle  on  Anne’s 
part  to  procure  the  dismissal  of  her  enemy ;  but,  that  failing, 
she  fell  into  a  stupor  of  despondency,  from  which  she  was 
aroused  only  by  the  crash  of  all  her  earthly  fortunes.  It  is 
like,  if  the  whole  scene  were  told  us  out  truly,  as  it  is  of  Kath¬ 
arine’s  and  Anne’s  matters,  we  might  find  that,  when  Boleyn 
retired  to  her  premature  accouchement,  Jane  took  her  place  at 
Henry’s  banqueting  board  and  council  table. 

But  it  is  Jane’s  especial  good  fortune,  that  she  alone,  of  all 
Henry’s  queens,  was  neither  adopted,  nor  attacked,  by  either 
of  the  belligerent  religions.  The  whole  hatred  of  the  Roman 
ists  was  concentrated  against  the  unhappy  Anne,  whom  they 
regarded  as  the  personal  enemy  of  Katharine,  the  most  Cath¬ 
olic,  and  as  the  head  and  front  of  the  English  schism.  The 


jane’s  unchastity. 


375 


extreme  reformers,  on  the  other  hand,  never  rallied  under 
Anne’s  party,  which  they  did  zealously  and  fanatically  under 
that  of  Jane’s  son,  Edward  VI.,  who  may  be  regarded  as  al¬ 
most  a  Puritan  king ;  so  that,  when  Jane  was  dead  and  gone, 
they  regarded  her  only  as  the  mother  of  their  Protestant  king ; 
while  the  Romanists  equally  upheld  her,  for  her  comparative 
kindness  to  Mary,  the  daughter  of  Katharine.  The  conse¬ 
quence  is,  that  during  her  life  the  party  of  the  Anglican  church 
upheld  her,  because  she  was  of  their  communion;  the  Romish 
church  supported  her,  because  she  had  overthrown  their  arch¬ 
enemy,  Anne ;  and  neither  kept  any  watch  on  her  proceed¬ 
ings,  or  took  any  heed  of  her  short  comings  and  transgressions. 
After  she  was  dead,  all  parties,  most  causelessly,  most  un¬ 
justly,  combined  to  glorify  her.  Before  her  marriage  to  the 
king,  her  conduct  was  the  most  heartless  and  cruel,  and  far 
from  the  least  unchaste  of  that  of  any  one  of  his  least  reputa¬ 
ble  queens ;  afterward,  she  was  a  mere  passive,  negative  doll 
. — a  beautiful  doll,  probably,  for,  if  not  for  her  beauty,  heaven 
knows  there  was  nothing  else  for  which  Henry  should  have 
chosen  her — but  a  most  uninteresting,  cold-blooded  woman,  and 
a  most  faineante  queen. 

I  say  she  was  not  the  least  unchaste  of  his  least  reputable 
queens  ;  and  I  say  so,  advisedly.  I  do  not  mean  to  say,  posi¬ 
tively,  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  Henry,  before  her  marriage 
with  him,  as  Anne  Boleyn  was;  or  the  mistress  of  some  one  else, 
before  her  marriage  with  Henry,  as  Katharine  Howard  was;  but 
I  do  mean  to  say,  that,  as  to  her  real  chastity,  it  does  not  matter 
a  pin’s  fee  whether  she  was  or  was  not.  The  girl,  who  will  sit 
on  the  knee,  and  submit  to  the  caresses  of  a  married  man,  with 
the  avowed  intent  of  seducing  him  from  his  affection  and  fealty 
to  his  lawful  wife,  is  capable  of  anything  ;  and,  to  iry  thinking, 


376 


jane’s  wedding. 


is  unchaste,  though,  from  coldness  of  temperament,  or  caution, 
she  may  have  preserved  her  person  as  unstained  as  that,  of 
Diana.  Indeed,  I  can  readily  imagine  one,  who  has  fallen  to 
the  arts  of  the  seducer,  loving  not  wisely  but  too  well,  chaster 
and  purer  in  soul,  than  she  who,  seducer  herself,  has  kept  a 
polluted  mind  in  an  unpolluted  body.  But  the  subject  is  an 
odious  one,  at  best ;  almost  as  odious  as  “  the  discreetest,  fair¬ 
est,  humblest  wife”  of  the  defender  of  the  faith. 

How  long  she  tarried  at  the  court,  as  I  have  said,  is  not  to 
be  ascertained ;  perhaps,  she  attended  the  queen  in  the  bal¬ 
cony,  during  those  fatal  jousts  at  Greenwich ;  perhaps  she  was 
one  of  the  ladies,  who  waited  in  silence  round  the  dinner  table, 
unwilling  to  be  the  first  to  disclose  the  horrid  tidings,  which  they 
were  not  all  unwilling  to  see  arrive,  while  the  fated  sovereign 
wondered  why  the  king’s  waiter  came  not,  with  his  wonted 
compliment,  “  much  good  may  it  do  you,”  until  the  surnap 
was  removed,  and  Kingston  and  the  cruel  Duke  of  Norfolk 
came  to  remove  her  to  the  tower. 

But  she  was  not  at  the  court,  when  the  doom  was  pro¬ 
nounced,  when  the  two-handed  broadsword  flashed,  and  the 
beautiful  head  fell.  She  was  not  at  the  court  then.  But  it 
was  from  no  sympathy,  no  pity,  no  delicacy  of  mind,  no  ten¬ 
derness  of  heart.  No!  it  was  not,  even,  from  the  natural  de¬ 
cency,  which  the  vilest  woman  would  assume,  if  she  had  it  not. 
No  !  she  was  at  her  father’s  seat  of  Wolf  Hall,  in  Wiltshire, 
fashioning  the  snowy  robe,  embroidering  the  bridal  veil, 
wreathing  the  orange  crown,  mixing  the  bride-cake,  drawing 
the  marriage  wine,  red  as  the  blood  which  must  flow  from  an¬ 
other  lovely  woman’s  veins,  before  that  festive  draught  can  go 
round  among  the  shouting  company ;  and  all  that,  while  the 
heart  was  yet  alive  and  warm  and  palpitating  in  untold  agony, 


WOLF  HALL. 


377 


which  must  cease  to  beat,  ere  her  happiness  could  be  consum¬ 
mated.  Atrocious,  odious,  abominable,  as  is  the  character  of 
that  detestable  man  and  king,  to  me  it  seems  gentle,  genial, 
and  commendable,  as  compared  with  that  of  the  heartless,  un- 
sexed  woman,  who  waited  in  her  well  named  abode — it  should 
have  been  a  Wolf  Hall  truly  to  afford  a  den  to  so  true  a  she 
wolf  —  with  eager  eyes  and  panting  heart,  for  the  coming  of 
the  bloody-souled,  if  not  bloody-handed,  newly  made  widower, 
who  should  make  her  the  murderous  bride  of  a  murderer. 

Such  was  “  the  discreet,  fair,  humble  queen,”  whom  Prot¬ 
estant  and  Papist  have  vied  with  one  another  who  should 
praise  the  most  fulsomely — of  whom,  historian  after  historian 
has  repeated  the  glib,  parrot-story — whom  American  women, 
when  they  read  the  loathsome  narrative  of  her  ascent  through 
deceit,  lust,  and  blood,  to  royal  eminence,  are  taught  to  regard 
as  modest,  virtuous,  meritorious,  and,  for  aught  that  I  know, 
worthy  of  imitation. 

One  portion  only  of  the  legend  must  needs  be  false.  It  is 
that,  which  tells  us,  that  after  awaiting  the  booming  of  the 
noonday  gun,  telling  of  the  perpetrated  murder,  either  in  Ep- 
ping  chase,  or  in  Richmond  park,  for,  in  both  localities,  tradi¬ 
tion  points  to  the  exact  oak  tree  under  which  he  stood,  Henry 
rode,  that  same  night,  to  Wolf  Hall,  in  Wiltshire,  and  was 
wedded  on  the  following  morning.  If  it  be  true  that  he  waited 
in  either  place,  it  must  necessarily  have  been  at  Richmond, 
which  is  nine  miles  on  the  route  toward  Wiltshire ;  while 
Epping  chase  lies  thirteen  in  a  diametrically  opposite  direc¬ 
tion.  Still,  Winchester  stands  sixty-three  miles  south-west  of 
London,  while  Tottenham  park  and  Wolf  Hall  cannot  be  less 
than  ten  or  fifteen  farther,  the  whole  making  a  distance,  which, 
even  now,  with  the  advantage  of  the  excellent  roads  of  the 


378 


THE  WEDDING  DAY. 


nineteenth  century,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  horse  to  cover, 
Detween  sunrise  and  sunset,  especially  with  twenty  stone 
weight,  or  upward,  on  his  back, — and  Henry,  measuring  six 
feet  four  inches  in  height,  and  more  than  obese  in  proportion, 
could  not  have  possibly  weighed  less.  As  roads  were,  in  those 
days,  and  the  state  of  the  country  in  general,  even  with  relays 
of  horses,  it  would  have  been  good  travelling,  to  a  man  of 
Henry’s  weight  and  age,  if  he  accomplished  it  on  the  second 
evening,  after  starting  from  Richmond  at  mid-day;  and  accord¬ 
ingly  we  find  it  stated  by  Lord  Herbert,  that  there  were  two 
stories  in  vogue,  one,  which  represented  the  marriage  as  oc¬ 
curring  on  the  next,  and  the  other,  more  consistently,  on  the 
third  day  following  Anne’s  execution.  Yet  there  is  something 
peculiar  in  the  story,  as  has  been  pointed  out  in  Fisher’s  gen¬ 
ealogical  history  of  England,*  namely,  that  the  nineteenth  of 
May,  in  1536,  fell  on  Friday,  and  Saturday,  the  twentieth,  was 
the  day  before  Rogation  Sunday ;  so  that,  it  the  wedding 
were  not  performed  on  that  day,  it  could  not  have  taken  place 
until  after  Whitsuntide.  Now  the  marriage  did  take  place  before 
Whitsuntide ;  for  the  bride  was  presented  in  London  at  that 
time  to  the  citizens,  and  the  wedding  festivities  were  mingled 
with  the  rejoicings  usual  on  that  day.  The  ceremony  certainly, 
therefore,  was  performed  on  the  twentieth  day  of  May,  in  Tot¬ 
tenham  church;  the  bridal  party  partook  of  a  splendid  banquet 
served  up  in  a  detached  building  at  Wolf  Hall,  which  is  yet 
entire,  and,  after  dinner  they  proceeded  to  Marwell,  near  W in- 
chester,  where  the  chamber  is  still  shown  in  which  the  newdy 
married  couple  passed  the  night. 

The  only  solution  of  the  difficulty  is,  if  Anne  were  not  exe¬ 
cuted  until  twelve  o’clock  on  the  nineteenth,  that  Henry,  in 


*  Quoted  by  Miss  Strickland,  iv.  210. 


SUBSERVIENCY  TO  TIIE  KING. 


379 


his  furious  eagerness,  must  have  ridden  through  the  livelong 
night,  by  aid  of  relays  posted,  in  advance,  along  the  road,  and 
reached  Wolf  Hall  on  the  morning  of  the  20th,  in  time  to 
celebrate  his  wedding.  A  great  feat,  indeed,  for  a  man, 
then  in  his  forty-fifth  year,  of  luxurious  habits,  and  gigantic 
frame,  who  had  already  been  noticed,  at  his  second  interview 
with  Francis  of  France,  to  have  become  too  unwieldy  and 
obese  to  take  part  any  longer  in  his  once  favorite  pursuits  of 
the  tilt-yard  and  the  tournay ;  and  one  which  shows  how 
strong  and  resolute  was  his  will,  when  once  fairly  aroused,  and 
how  puissant  his  frame,  even  in  its  impaired  condition,  to  meet 
every  tax,  which  he  chose  to  impose  on  it.  Several  members 
of  the  privy  council,  it  seems,  were  present  at  the  marriage, 
which  was  performed  in  church,  as  is  evident  from  the  follow¬ 
ing  passage,  as  also  at  the  feast  that  followed  it ;  for  Lord  Her¬ 
bert,  speaking  of  the  wedding,  says,  “  Concerning  the  ceremony 
whereof,  as  well  as  the  opinion  held  in  those  times  of  the  differ¬ 
ent  perfections  of  the  king,  and  his  two  queens,  I  shall  out  of 
our  records  produce  the  censure  of  Sir  John  Russel,  afterward 
earl  of  Bedford,  who,  having  been  at  church,  observed  the 
king  to  be  the  goodliest  person  there  ;  but  of  the  two  queens 
gave  this  note,  that  the  richer  Queen  Jane  was  in  clothes,  the 
fairer  she  appeared,  but  that  the  other,  the  richer  she  was  ap¬ 
parelled,  the  worse  she  looked.” 

The  strange  and  disgraceful  subserviency  to  this  monster 
king,  of  his  parliaments,  is  well  shown  in  the  addresses  pre¬ 
sented  on  his  marriage,  by  the  two  houses,  and  the  new  act, 
by  which  the  succession  was  vested  in  the  heirs  of  the  body 
of  Queen  Jane,  “  whose  age  and  fine  form  give  promise  of 
issue,”  Elizabeth,  the  daughter  of  Anne  being  declared  illegiti¬ 
mate,  just  as  Mary  had  been,  previously,  on  Anne’s  elevation 


380 


o 

PARLIAMENTARY  FLATTERIES. 

Tlie  speaker,  chosen  by  this  precious  house  of  commons,  was 
Solicitor-general  Rich,  the  perjured  caitiff,  who  had  sworn  away 
the  life  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  and  who  now  unblushingly  com¬ 
pared  the  bloated  tyrant  “  for  strength  and  fortitude,  to  Sam¬ 
son,  for  justice  and  prudence,  to  Solomon,  and  for  beauty  and 
comeliness,  to  Absalom.” 

“  Thus  did  the  English  senate,”  observes  the  lady,  from 
whom  I  have  so  often  quoted,  “  condescend  to  encourage 
Henry  in  his  vices,  calling  his  self-indulgence,  self-denial,  and 
all  his  evil,  good ;  inflating  his  wicked  willfulness  with  eulogy, 
till  he  actually  forgot,  according  to  W olsey’s  solemn  warning. 
‘  that  there  was  both  heaven  and  hell.’  While  the  biographer  is 
appalled,  as  the  domestic  features  of  this  moral  monster  are  un¬ 
veiled,  surely  some  abhorrence  is  due  to  the  union  of  atrocities 
that  met  in  the  heads  and  the  hearts  of  his  advisers  and  flatterers.” 

A  curious  testimony  of  the  circumstances  of  this  act  of  ab¬ 
horrent  treachery  and  domestic  wickedness  exists  in  the  dedica 
tion  to  Coverdale’s  bible,  printed  in  Zurich,  in  1535.  In  the 
preface  to  this  work,  the  names  of  Henry  and  his  queen  were 
to  be  mentioned  with  eulogy,  as  reforming  princes,  but  the 
hapless  Anne  having  been  sacrificed,  and  Jane  Seymour  set 
in  her  place,  while  the  sheets  were  going  through  the  press, 
an  attempt  has  been  made  to  reconcile  the  error  by  the  in¬ 
terlineation  of  a  J  above  the  word  Anne,  as  often  as  it  occurs 
in  the  text.  Oddly  enough,  this  is  not  the  only  instance  of 
ex  post  facto  alterations  of  printed  forms,  which  occurs  in  this 
reign.  When  Anne  was  brought  to  bed  of  Elizabeth,  so  con 
fident  were  the  king  and  his  council  that  the  royal  will  could 
control  that  of  heaven,  that  an  instrument  was  actually  pre 
Dared  and  printed,  beforehand,  announcing  the  birth  of  a  prince. 
When  the  child  appeared,  and  proved  to  be  a  girl,  the  gender 


THE  BOOTLESS  REIGN. 


381 


had  to  be  altered  in  the  text ;  and,  there  not  being  room  for 
two  letters,  a  single  s  was  interpolated,  making  the  queen  to 
be  delivered  of  a  princes;  whence  some  authors  have  fallen 
into  the  error  of  imagining  that  Anne  Boleyn  gave  birth  to  a 
male  heir,  who  died,  before  Elizabeth. 

There  is  hardly  a  fact,  worthy  of  commemoration,  recorded 
of  the  brief  reign  of  this  Jane,  who  has  been  described  as  a  para¬ 
gon  of  human  virtues ;  the  only  direct  document  of  her  queen- 
ship,  which  has  been  preserved,  is  an  order  to  the  park-keeper 
at  Havering  at  the  Bower,  to  deliver  “  two  bucks  in  high  sea¬ 
son  ”  to  certain  gentlemen  named ;  and  this  instrument,  as  au¬ 
thority  to  which  she  cites  the  king’s  warrant  and  seal,  is  signed, 
in  a  sprawling,  awkward  manuscript,  “  Jane  the  Quene.”  The 
only  act  of  kindness  or  charity,  which  can  be  quoted  in  her  fa¬ 
vor,  is  her  reception  of  the  young  Princess  Mary,  at  Green¬ 
wich  palace,  during  the  Christmas  rejoicings  of  1537.  Yet 
the  hard  terms  on  which  this  unhappy  child  was  readmitted  to 
her  father’s  partial  favor,  only  after  confessing  under  her  own 
hand,  her  own  illegitimacy,  and  the  unlawfulness  of  her  moth¬ 
er’s  marriage,  and  making  the  most  abject  submission  for  her 
past  undutifulness,  speaks  little  either  for  the  kindness  of  this 
queen’s  heart,  or  the  potency,  if  it  were  honest,  of  her  inter¬ 
cession  with  the  king. 

Her  only  known  grief  was  caused  by  the  death  of  her  father, 
in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age,  at  the  height  of  honors  and  am¬ 
bition,  leaving  his  eldest  daughter  queen,  and  his  eldest  son, 
created  Earl  of  Beauchamp,  and  appointed  for  life  lord-cham¬ 
berlain  of  England ;  and  how  much  she  was  grieved  at  this 
event,  or  how  far  consoled  by  the  wealth  and  honors,  which 
flowed  in  upon  her  family,  from  every  quarter,  is  not  to  be 
discovered. 


382 


SENTENCE  OF  A  DEAD  SAINT. 


We  learn,  also,  that  the  winter  was  a  severe  one,  and  that 
the  queen,  with  her  husband  and  all  his  court,  crossed  the 
Thames  to  Greenwich,  on  horseback,  on  the  ice.  In  the  fol¬ 
lowing  spring,  the  royal  pair  made  a  progress  to  Canterbury, 
not,  one  may  be  sure,  on  a  pious  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of 
St.  Thomas  a  Becket,  though  that  saint  was  concerned  in  the 
matter.  It  will  not  be  forgotten,  that,  when  Henry  was  busy 
reforming  abuses  and  abolishing  shrines,  this  rebellious  saint, 
who  had  been  dead  three  centuries,  or  thereabouts,  was  cited 
into  court  to  show  cause  why  he  should  not  be  found  guilty  of 
sedition  against  his  royal  master,  Henry  II.  The  saint,  not 
appearing,  he  was  allowed  thirty  days,  in  which  to  make  his 
appearance  in  person,  or  by  proxy;  that  being,  it  must  be  pre¬ 
sumed,  the  ascertained  period  in  which  the  journey  may  be 
made  between  earth  and  Paradise — for  we  cannot  suppose  a 
saint  to  have  had  any  other  abiding  place  ;  and,  failing  to  do 
this,  he  was  condemned  to  forfeit  all  his  worldly  goods  to  the 
king,  and  to  have  his  bones  burned,  as  a  public  admonition  to 
future  saints,  in  expectancy,  to  pay  due  respect  to  kings.  The 
latter  portion  of  the  sentence  was,  of  course,  duly  executed ; 
but  Henry  seems  to  have  imagined  that  there  was  some  trick¬ 
ery  on  the  part  of  the  saint,  that  the  worldly  goods  had  not  all 
been  duly  handed  over.  Perhaps,  the  saint  had  made  them 
over  to  some  brother  or  sister  saint,  in  order  to  cheat  his  ma¬ 
jesty’s  exchequer.  At  all  events,  it  was  a  matter,  evidently, 
worth  looking  after  ;  and  it  appears,  that  it  was  to  no  small 
purpose,  that  Henry  did  look  after  it ;  for  he  ever  after  wore, 
as  a  thumb  ring,  the  magnificent  diamond,  presented  to  St. 
Thomas  by  King  Lewis  VII.,  and  known  by  the  pilgrims  to 
the  time-honored  shrine  of  the  martyred  bishop,  as  “  the  Lustre 
of  France.” 


BIRTH  OF  PRINCE  EDWARD. 


383 


On  his  return  from  this  progress,  Henry,  it  seems,  was  de¬ 
sirous  that,  as  both  his  former  wives  had  enjoyed  gorgeous 
coronations,  though  they  had  both  been  afterward  discrowned, 
his  present  wife  should  not  lack,  at  least,  the  former  distinc¬ 
tion  ;  but,  in  the  first  place,  the  plague,  which  raged  at  West¬ 
minster,  intervened  ;  then,  the  birth  of  Prince  Edward  oppo¬ 
sed  farther  delay  ;  and,  lastly,  the  greatest  of  mortal  mon- 
archs,  King  Death,  took  the  matter  into  his  own  hand,  and  deter¬ 
mined  by  that  decision,  from  which  there  lies  no  appeal,  that 
the  fair  Jane  Seymour  should  be  neither  crowned,  nor  dis¬ 
crowned,  by  any  fingers  but  his  own. 

It  was  on  the  sixteenth  of  September,  1537,  that  Queen  Jane, 
according  to  the  ceremonial  then  in  use  with  English  queens, 
took  to  her  chamber  at  Hampton  court,  one  month  previous 
to  the  expected  event,  during  the  whole  of  which  time  she  was 
not  permitted  to  quit  her  apartment,  and  was  waited  on  by 
ladies  only.  On  the  12th  of  October,  after  terrible  sufferings, 
during  which  the  queen’s  attendants  put  the  cruel  question  to 
Henry,  “  Whether  he  would  desire  saved,  if  to  save  both 
should  prove  impossible,  his  wife  or  the  child,”  she  was  deliv¬ 
ered  of  a  prince,  on  Friday,  the  vigil  of  St.  Edward’s  eve. 
The  question  having  been  put,  as  it  doubtless  was — for  such  is 
the  rule  in  the  case,  at  least  of  royal  accouchemenls,  and  the 
writer  well  remembers  that  it  was  put  in  the  instance  of  the 
Princess  Charlotte  Augusta  of  Wales,  though,  in  that  instance, 
answered  on  the  Christian  view  of  the  subject,  but  in  vain  — 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Henry  did  reply,  as  he  is  said  to 
have  replied  —  “The  child,  by  all  means.  Other  wives  can 
be  found  easily.”  To  have  made  the  other  choice  was  not  in 
Henry’s  nature.  The  child,  however,  survived,  without  re¬ 
course  tc  the  dreadful  alternative,  to  inherit  his  mother’s  beauty, 


384 


CHRISTENING  OF  EDWARD. 


and  especiall)  her  starry  eyes — to  inherit,  I  think,  something 
of  her  character,  for  he  seems  from  childhood  to  have  been 
cold,  formal,  narrow-minded,  and  in  spite  of  his  after  admira¬ 
ble  education  by  Henry’s  last  and  most  excellent  wife,  Kath¬ 
arine  Parr,  to  have  had  but  a  narrow  share  either  of  heart  or 
intellect. 

The  queen,  with  ordinary  care,  might  have  recovered  and 
survived  ;  but,  whom  the  agonies  and  perils  of  child-birth  had 
spared,  the  christening  festivities  destroyed.  The  boisterous 
king  was  furious  and  brutal  in  his  joy,  as  he  was  in  his  rage, 
in  his  tenderness,  in  all  things.  The  court,  at  his  beck,  bid¬ 
ding,  and  example,  went  mad.  Revelry  waxed  into  riot,  and 
riot  roared  through  the  palace.  The  ceremony  took  place  on 
the  Monday  after  the  birth,  and  the  faint  queen  was  forced  to 
rise  from  her  bed,  to  lie  on  a  state  pallet,  and  play  her  part 
in  the  pageant,  which  proceeded  from  her  very  chamber. 

Never  was  seen  such  a  procession — never  in  any  procession 
were  such  persons  brought  together.  The  sponsors  were  the 
Princess  Mary,  Cranmer,  and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  The  in¬ 
fant  Elizabeth,  borne  aloft  in  the  arms  of  the  arrogant  and  am¬ 
bitious  Seymour,  the  queen’s  brother,  carried  in  her  baby 
hands  the  crimson,  for  the  son  of  her,  to  make  whom  queen 
she  was  herself  made  motherless  and  bastardized ;  and  the 
Earl  of  Wiltshire,  the  father  of  the  murdered  Boleyn,  assisted 
at  the  rite,  a  weak,  white-headed  dotard.  Of  these  persons, 
Mary,  the  first  sponsor,  succeeding  her  brother,  the  first  Prot¬ 
estant  defender  of  the  faith,  for  whom  she  that  evening  re¬ 
sponded,  among  the  cruellest  deeds  of  her  cruel  Romish  reign, 
consigned  to  the  stake  and  fagot  one  of  her  associates,  Cran¬ 
mer,  in  that  solemn,  Christian  rite ;  the  other,  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  who  narrowly  escaped  his  own  bloody  doom  by 


jane  Seymour’s  death. 


385 


Henry’s  timely  death  alone,  being  his  prosecutor  and  deadli¬ 
est  enemy.  Elizabeth,  destined  to  be  the  most  puissant  of 
English  queens,  and  to  efface  by  the  glories  of  her  reign  the 
dark  and  doleful  memories  of  her  mother,  was  led  back  in  the 
returning  procession,  by  her  sister  Mary ;  her  train  borne  by 
the  Lady  Herbert,  sister  of  yet  a  future  queen  of  England, 
Katharine  Parr — both  disinherited,  both  illegitimated,  both  to 
wear  the  crown  of  England,  the  one  under  the  bloodiest,  the 
other  under  the  bravest  and  brightest  auspices. 

What  a  leaf  was  there  to  be  read  in  the  book  of  Kite,  turned 
at  that  christening,  if  any  had  been  there  endowed  with  lore 
to  read  it. 

After  the  ceremonial,  which  lasted  until  midnight — during 
the  whole  duration  of  which  time  the  king  sat  revelling  and 
rollicking,  in  his  great  content,  by  the  side  of  the  sick  queen’s 
pallet,  killing  her,  while  he  was  designing  in  the  rude  style  of 
his  rough  tenderness  to  cheer  her — the  royal  child  was  borne 
back  to  the  chamber,  with  trumpets  braying,  kettle-drums 
booming,  and  heralds  bellowing  the  proclamation  of  the  new 
born  infant’s  titles,  to  receive  his  mother’s  blessing. 

It  is  no  wonder  that,  on  the  Wednesday  ensuing,  the  mother 
was  so  ill  that  it  was  held  necessary  to  administer  the  sacra¬ 
ment  to  her.  Still  she  died  not  yet,  as  some  writers  have  sup¬ 
posed,  but  survived  a  fortnight ;  finally,  and  it  is  like  fortu¬ 
nately  for  herself,  departing  this  life  at  Hampton  Court,  on 
the  28th  day  of  October,  the  only  one  of  Henry’s  six  wives, 
who  died  a  queen,  the  only  one  who  bore  him  an  heir  male, 
and  the  last  who  bore  him  a  child,  though  she  had  three  suc¬ 
cessors  in  her  perilous  state. 

She  received  a  splendid  funeral,  and  was  buried  in  great 
pomp,  Mary  officiating  as  chief  mourner  to  her  friendly  step- 
Q  25 


3S6 


TIIE  MONUMENTS  OF  QUEENS. 


mother,  m  St.  George’s  chapel,  at  Windsor,  where,  on  her 
tomb,  was  engraved  the  following  epitaph,  in  allusion  to  her¬ 
self  and  to  Prince  Edward,  who  sprang  from  her  decease : 

“Phoenix  Jana  jacet,  nato  Phcenice.  dolendum, 

Saecula  phoenices  nulla  tulisae  duos.” 

“Here  a  phoenix  lieth,  whose  death 
To  another  phoenix  gave  breath. 

It  is  to  be  lamented  much 

The  world  at  once  ne'er  knew  two  such.” 

Henry  wrote  a  characteristic  letter  to  Francis,  on  this  event, 
deploring  the  death,  and  exulting  at  the  birth,  but  confessing 
that  the  latter  gave  him  far  more  joy,  than  did  the  former 
grief.  He  failed,  however,  in  no  mark  of  respect  to  her  mem¬ 
ory,  causing  his  whole  court  to  wear  mourning  for  her,  even 
during  the  holidays  of  the  ensuing  Christmas  —  no  slight  trib¬ 
ute  when  it  is  considered  how  utterly  he  abhorred  the  sight  of 
black,  which  he  believed  ominous  of  evil,  for  devoid  as  he  was 
of  all  mercy,  humanity,  or  grace,  he  was,  by  no  means,  want¬ 
ing  in  superstition. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  in  his  last  will  the  king  commanded 
that  the  bones  of  his  “loving  queen  Jane,”  in  her  quality, 
doubtless,  of  mother  to  the  future  king,  should  be  laid  in  his 
own  tomb ;  and  his  orders  were  obeyed,  for  when  George  IV. 
caused  the  vaults  of  Windsor  chapel  to  be  searched,  for  the 
corpse  of  Charles  II.,  the  coffin  of  Queen  Jane  lay,  side  by 
side,  with  the  gigantic  skeleton  of  Henry  VIII.,  which  some 
previous  accident  had  exposed  to  view.*  “  He  likewise  left 
directions  for  a  magnificent  monument  to  their  mutual  memo¬ 
ries,  which,  he  intended,  should  be  erected  in  Windsor  chapel. 
Both  their  statues  were  to  be  placed  on  the  tomb  ;  the  effigy 


*  Miss  Strickland,  vol.  vi.  224. 


MAN  PROPOSES,  GOD  DISPOSES. 


387 


of  Jane  was  to  recline,  not  as  in  death,  but  as  one  sweetly 
sleeping ;  children  were  to  sit  at  the  corners  of  this  tomb, 
having  baskets  of  roses,  white  and  red,  made  of  fine,  oriental 
stones — jasper,  cornelian,  and  agate,  ‘which  they  shall  shew 
to  take  in  their  hands  and  cast  them  down,  on,  and  over  the 
tomb,  and  down  on  the  pavement ;  and  the  roses  they  shall 
cast  over  the  tomb  shall  be  enamelled  and  gilt,  and  the 
roses  they  cast  on  the  steps  and  pavement  shall  be  formed  of 
the  said  fine,  oriental  stones,  and  some  shall  be  inlaid  on  the 
pavement.’  ” 

The  beautifnl  design,  though  directed  by  Henry’s  own  -,ign 
manual,  was  never  executed  ;  it  was  begun,  indeed,  but  n  •ver 
finished ;  and  the  materials  are  said  to  have  been  stoler  du¬ 
ring  the  civil  wars. 

But  the  monument — which  he  stated  he  would  have  to  Queen 
Katharine’s  memory,  which  should  be  “  one  of  the  goodliest 
monuments  in  Christendom,”  the  beautiful  abbey-church  of 
Peterborough,  namely,  spared  from  the  common  destruction 
that  befell  all  monasteries,  because  it  covers  her  remains — sur¬ 
vived  the  barbarous  iconoclasm  of  Ireton,  Brooke,  and  Pe¬ 
ters  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  still  stands — though  the 
actual  place  of  her  interment  is  unmarked  save  by  a  small 
brass  plate — the  actual  monument  of  that  most  royal  and  mag¬ 
nificent  of  all  his  royal  consorts. 

Thus,  it  is  shown,  in  one  more  instance,  that  whatever  man 
may  propose,  it  is  God  only  who  disposes  ;  and  that,  plan  and 
purpose  as  we  may,  the  plans  and  purposes  will  turn  only  to 
the  final  end,  which  he  has  predetermined. 


ANNE  OF  CLEYES 


MARRIED,  1540;  REPUDIATED,  1540. 


In  such  fi  business,  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

i  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  try. 

Shakspearb.  All's  Well  that  Ends  Wei l 


>ss-  7 


ANNE  OF  CLEVES. 


BORN,  SEPTEMBER  22,  1516',  MARRIED,  1540  J  REPUDIATED,  1540. 


In  such  a  business,  give  me  leave  te  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  try. 

Sdakspeare. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Among  the  many  principalities,  which  existed  of  old,  sup¬ 
porting  distinct  populations,  and  govenied  by  noble,  brave, 
and  warlike  princes,  which  at  the  end  of  the  great  Napoleonic 
war,  in  1815,  were  merged  in  the  larger  empires,  one  among 
the  most  considerable  of  the  lesser  German  powers,  was  the 
duchy  of  Cleves,  which,  with  its  dependencies  of  Berg,  the 
county  of  Mark,  Ravensburgh,  Juliers,  and  Ravenstein,  was 
ruled  by  a  line  of  hereditary  princes,  who,  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII.,  lacked  neither  dignity,  influence,  nor  importance, 
among  the  European  sovereigns  of  the  time.  It  has  since, 
with  all  its  subordinate  possessions,  been  absorbed  by  Prussia. 

The  ruling  monarch  of  these  principalities,  who  had  in  fact 
united  them,  himself,  for  the  first  time,  into  one  government, 
by  his  marriage  with  Maria,  the  heiress  of  William,  duke  of 
Juliers,  Berg,  and  Ravenstein,  was  John,  surnamed  the  Paci- 


392 


HENRY  A  WIDOWER. 


ficator,  who  had  succeeded  his  father,  John  the  Clement,  in 

1521. 

He  was  a  politic  and  powerful  prince  ;  he  was  closely 
connected  with  that  potent  confederacy  of  German  princes, 
known  in  history  as  the  Smalcaldic  league,  whereof  that  he¬ 
roic  prince,  John  Frederic,  duke  of  Saxony,  who  had  married 
Sibylla,  his  eldest  daughter,  was  the  most  distinguished  chief 
and  leader.  This  Princess  Sibylla,  late  of  Cleves,  now  of 
Saxony,  was  one  of  the  most  meritorious  and  renowned  ladies 
of  her  age  in  Europe,  equally  noted  for  her  great  beauty,  her 
unusual  talents,  and  her  high  spirit.  This  princess  had  two 
sisters,  Anne  and  Amelia  of  Cleves,  both  her  juniors,  and  both 
said  greatly  to  resemble  her  in  their  physical  and  mental  qual¬ 
ifications. 

John  of  Cleves,  the  Pacificator,  was  a  reformer  and  a  Lu 
theran,  and  his  son-in-law  of  Saxony,  “  for  his  invincible  adhe¬ 
rence  to  his  principles,  and  his  courage  in  adversity,  was  sur- 
named  the  Lion  of  the  Reformation.” 

After  the  death  of  his  third  wife,  Jane  Seymour,  Henry  VIII., 
who  was, one  would  say, never  contented,  either  with  a  wife  while 
he  had  one,  or  without  one  when  a  widower,  immediately  began 
to  cast  about  his  eyes  for  another  consort;  and  having,  now,  ta¬ 
ken  into  his  head  that  a  French  lady  would  suit  his  tastes, 
wnich,  to  do  him  justice,  were,  at  least,  more  refined  than  his 
temper, .he  applied  to  his  friend,  Francis  the  First,  to  aid  him 
to  the  object  of  his  wishes.  Francis,  it  seems,  made  some 
general  complimentary  reply,  to  the  effect  that  there  was  no 
single  lady  in  the  kingdom,  who  would  not  hold  herself  hon¬ 
ored  by  the  offer  of  his  hand  ;  whereupon,  the  literal-minded 
Englishman  coolly  requested  him  to  send  down  a  batch  of  the 
handsomest  women  of  his  court  to  Calais  for  inspection. 


MARIE  OF  LORRAINE. 


393 


Francis,  of  course,  declined  the  offer,  saying  that  it  was  im¬ 
possible  to  trot  noble  ladies  out,  like  horses  at  a  fair,  and  to 
pick  them  for  their  shapes  and  paces.  But  this  strange  man 
was  not  to  be  put  off  easily.  He  had  fallen  in  love,  or,  what 
is  the  same  thing,  imagined  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the 
lovely  Marie  of  Lorraine,  dowager  duchess  of  Longueville ; 
and,  though  he  was  distinctly  informed  that  he  could  not  have 
her,  since  she  was  betrothed  to  his  nephew,  James  of  Scotland, 
he,  in  perfect  consistency  with  his  temper,  only  became  the 
more  pertinacious,  from  the  opposition.  At  last,  Chatillon, 
the  French  ambassador  at  the  court  of  London,  who  was  at 
times  entertained,  at  times  worried,  by  his  persistence,  asked 
him,  as  he  informs  his  sovereign  and  employer,  “  whether  he 
would  marry  the  wife  of  another.”  To  which  he  made  an¬ 
swer  that  “  he  knew  she  had  not  passed  her  word  yet,  and 
that  he  would  do  ten  times  as  much  for  Francis,  as  the  king 
of  Scots  could  do.”  When  this  project  of  alliance  fell 
through,  owing  to  Madame  de  Longueville’s  actual  marriage 
with  James,  an  union  with  that  lady’s  handsome  sister,  or  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Vendome,  was  suggested  to  him,  when  he 
instantly  recurred  to  his  first  idea  of  personal  inspection.  Cha¬ 
tillon  hinted  that  he  could  send  some  one  to  look  at  them  for 
him, — “  Pardie,”  replied  he,  “how  can  I  depend  on  any  one 
except  myself?  ” — besides,  he  said,  he  wanted  to  see  them, 
and  especially  to  see  them  sing.  It  is  known,  that  he  was  an 
enthusiastic  and  skillful  musician  and  amateur,  and  passion¬ 
ately  fond  of  music ;  but  it  seems,  by  this,  that  his  love  of 
sweet  sounds  could  not  overpower  his  love  for  handsome  faces; 
and  that  it  was  as  indispensable  in  his  ideas  that  the  lady  of 
his  love  should  look  pretty  while  she  was  singing,  as  that  she 
should  be  a  proficient  in  that  art. 

Q* 


394 


THE  FRENCH  LADIES. 


At  length,  reluctantly  enough,  as  it  appears,  finding  that  he 
could  do  nothing  with  Chatillon,  nor  by  any  means  get  a  chance 
of  a  reenactment  of  the  judgment  of  Paris,  with  his  own  hand, 
in  lieu  of  an  apple  of  gold,  as  the  delur  pulcherrimce  of  the  la¬ 
dies  of  France,  he  gave  up  the  idea  of  a  queen  from  that  land 
of  grace  and  refinement. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten,  as  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
understanding  the  history  of  the  times,  that  England  was  at 
this  time  divided  into  two,  or,  one  may  say,  three  great  reli¬ 
gious  parties ;  on  the  ascendency  of  the  one  or  other  of  which, 
all  the  politics  of  the  time  depended,  and  according  to  the  suc¬ 
cessive  alternations  of  which  the  alliances  and  foreign  policy 
of  the  comitry  alternated.  The  first  of  these  was  the  old  Ro¬ 
mish  party,  sustained  by  many  of  the  noblest  families  of  the 
peerage,  especially  in  the  north  country,  where  to  this  day  that 
creed  prevails  more  largely  than  elsewhere  in  the  realm,  with 
the  Howards,  Percys,  Cliffords,  and  other  great  names  at  their 
head.  These  looked  for  nothing  less  than  a  return  to  the  old 
order  of  things,  a  reconciliation  with  the  pontiff,  and  the  res¬ 
toration  of  Roman  authority  in  England.  The  second  was  the 
court,  or  Anglican  church  party,  which,  adhering  to  all  the  doc¬ 
trines  and  traditions,  and  using  the  ritual  of  Rome,  objected  to 
the  foreign  supremacy,  and  approved  of  the  English  system  as 
established  by  Henry,  without  desiring  any  farther  reforms, 
or  countenancing  the  Lutheran  innovations.  The  third  were 
the  true  Protestant  reformers,  whether  Wickliffites  or  Lu¬ 
therans,  who  were  afterward  termed  Puritans,  and  who,  though 
neither  in  this  nor  any  succeeding  reigh,  except  the  short  one 
of  Edward  VI.,  did  they  dare  to  avow  their  principles  openly, 
were  yet  a  powerful  and  increasing  body,  especially  among  the 
middle  classes.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  weight  of  this  secret  organ- 


POLEMICAL  PARTIES. 


395 


ization,  that  secured  the  establishment  of  Henry’s  church,  with 
a  view  to  the  introduction,  as  occasion  should  serve,  of  yet 
farther  reforms.  This  latter  party,  of  which  Latimer  and,  se¬ 
cretly,  Cranmer,  were  the  leaders,  though  often  persecuted  by 
the  Anglican  party,  always  made  common  cause  with  them 
against  the  Papists,  the  common  enemies  of  both,  and,  when 
the  Anglicans  needed  their  support,  were  aided  by  them. 

From  the  beginning  to  the  close  of  Henry’s  reign,  it  was  a 
struggle  between  these  parties,  and  also  between  the  Roman¬ 
ists  and  Reformers  on  the  continent,  which  should  possess  the 
king’s  ear  by  means  of  his  wife ;  and  we  constantly  find  that, 
when  he  chanced  to  be  a  widower,  either  party  used  every  ex¬ 
ertion  to  find  him  a  helpmate  of  its  own  persuasion  ;  and  when 
he  had  a  wife,  that  party  to  which  she  did  not  belong,  had  re¬ 
course  to  every  method,  however  cowardly  or  wicked,  to  de¬ 
throne  and  destroy  her.  This  strange  warfare  waged  by  reli¬ 
gious  sects,  with  royal  wives  for  their  weapons,  began  with 
the  cruel  injustice  done  to  Katharine  of  Arragon,  which  the 
Romanists  vainly  resented  and  resisted.  Frustrated  by  the 
elevation  of  Anne  Boleyn,  they  had  materially  contributed  to 
her  fall,  if,  indeed,  they  did  not  plan  and  execute  it.  Under 
the  passive  reign  of  the  cipher,  Jane  Seymour,  who  had  no  re¬ 
ligion,  or  any,  just  as  her  husband  might  desire,  both  parties 
remained  inactive,  both  flattering  and  praising  the  power  that 
was  at  least  harmless,  and  preferring  the  rule  of  queen  log,  to 
that  of  queen  stork,  in  spite  of  creed  or  church. 

When  Jane  departed  this  life,  and  the  king’s  hand  was  again 
in  the  market,  the  struggle  recommenced,  and  it  soon  appeared 
that  fortune  favored  the  Reformers.  The  inability  of  Henry 
to  obtain  a  French  queen,  and  the  unwillingness  shown  by 
most  of  the  ladies  of  the  European  courts — Spain  being  en- 


396 


THE  SMALCALDIC  LEAGUE. 


tirely  out  of  the  question,  in  consequence  of  the  alienation  of 
the  princes — to  enter  into  any  alliance  with  a  king,  who  was 
generally  believed  to  have  poisoned  two,  as  he  had  unquestion¬ 
ably  beheaded  one,  of  his  three  wives,  suggested  to  the  Prot¬ 
estant  party  the  idea  of  securing  and  advancing  the  reforma¬ 
tion,  by  marrying  the  uxorious  widower  to  a  Lutheran  prin¬ 
cess,  and  entering  into  a  close  alliance  with  the  German  prin¬ 
ces  of  the  Smalcaldic  league. 

Cromwell  proposed  to  the  king  the  princesses  of  the  house 
of  Cleves,  and  advances  were  made  to  the  German  princes, 
in  order  to  see  how  they  would  regard  the  project.  The  gal¬ 
lant  and  noble  elector  of  Saxony,  at  first  objected  strongly, 
and  opposed  the  union  of  any  female  member  of  his  family  to 
a  man  of  so  inconstant,  brutal  and  capricious  a  disposition,  as  the 
king  of  England.  But  it  was  represented  to  him  earnestly, 
that  wavering  already  in  the  scale,  and  half  inclined  to  join 
heart  and  hand  with  the  reformers,  such  a  marriage  would  de¬ 
cide  the  English  monarch,  to  the  infinite  advantage  of  Ger¬ 
many,  which,  strengthened  by  the  solid  alliance  of  England, 
might  defy  the  united  force  and  fraud  of  Spain  and  Rome; 
and,  ultimately,  religion  and  policy  carried  the  day,  and,  as 
usual,  female  happiness  was  sacrificed  to  the  demon  idol  of  ex¬ 
pediency  and  state  intrigue. 

It  was  signified  to  Henry  that  either  of  the  sisters,  Anne  or 
Amelia,  was  open  to  his  addresses;  agents  were  despatched  to 
report  upon  them  and  their  respective  charms ;  the  famous 
painter,  Hans  Holbein,  visited  the  court  of  the  Pacificator,  to 
portray  their  charms,  and  send  the  result  of  his  labors  for  the 
inspection  of  Henry. 

It  is  impossible  to  doubt,  that  Cromwell  had  recourse  to  de¬ 
ceit  and  intrigue  to  carry  his  end ;  for  all  his  agents,  Christo- 


PERSON  OF  ANNE  OF  CLEVES. 


397 


pher  Mount,  Nicholas  Wolton,  and,  in  short,  all  who  were  em¬ 
ployed  in  this  business,  did,  beyond  doubt,  send  the  most  glu¬ 
ing  and  exaggerated  accounts  of  the  beauties,  talents  and  capa¬ 
bilities  of  the  ladies ;  and  Holbein,  whether  merely  from  the 
natural  propensity  of  painters  to  flatter  ladies’  portraits,  and 
make  foul  fair,  or  that  he  received  a  hint  from  the  wily  minis¬ 
ter  to  make  the  best  of  it,  transmitted  two  miniatures,  both 
more  than  usually  comely,  but  one,  that  of  Anne,  so  eminently 
handsome,  that  the  king  was  amazingly  taken  with  it,  and, 
learning  that  she  was  of  a  tall  and  well  developed  person,  be¬ 
came,  as  usual  with  him,  urgent  and  impatient  for  the  imme¬ 
diate  consummation  of  the  marriage. 

The  truth  is,  that  Anne  was  a  fine,  tall,  shapely  German 
girl,  with  a  good,  grave,  somewhat  heavy,  gentle,  placid  face,  a 
dark  complexion  marred  with  the  small  pox,  which,  of  course, 
did  not  appear  in  the  miniature,  good  eyes  and  hair,  and  no 
more.  In  short,  she  had  no  pretensions  to  beauty,  whatever. 
She  was  in  all  respects  provincial,  as  compared  to  the  accom¬ 
plished,  refined,  volatile  beauties  of  the  French  and  English,  or 
to  the  stately  graces  of  the  proud  donnas  of  the  Spanish  courts. 
She  had  not  a  pretension  to  style  or  grace.  Probably  her  fine 
and  shapely  person  was  not  set  up,  as  it  is  termed,  by  any  ele¬ 
gance  of  carriage  or  demeanor ;  she  could  speak  no  language 
but  her  own,  not  even  French  or  Latin  ;  she  did  not  dance,  or 
yet  play  on  any  instrument,  or  even  sing.  In  a  word,  she  dif 
fered  fully  as  much  from  the  ladies  with  whom  Henry  had  been 
wont  to  associate,  as  would  the  plain,  unadorned  daughter  of 
a  German  merchant,  professor  or  counsellor,  in  any  of  the  infe. 
rior  Rhenish  cities  of  to-day,  differ  from  a  reigning  beauty  of 
the  exclusive  coteries  of  London  or  Paris. 

I, -in  no  respect,  mean  or  desire  to  detract  from  this  excellent 


398 


HER  CHARACTER. 


and  much  injured  lady — injured  almost  as  much  by  the  neg 
lect  and  contempt  which  she  has  met  from  posterity  and  his 
tory,  as  by  the  insolence  and  brutality  of  her  husband. 

In  my  memoir  of  Anne  Boleyn,  I  observed  on  the  fact,  how 
strangely  the  reputation  of  ladies,  having  possessed  bewilder¬ 
ing  beauty,  has  operated  on  minds  which,  never  having  been 
subject  to  their  influence,  might  be  expected  to  be  impartial, 
yet  have  been  warped  into  showing  as  much  favor  to  the  bright 
creatures,  as  though  they  had  been  themselves  expectant  lovers. 
I  must  now  notice  the  converse  of  this  position.  For  it  is  not  to 
be  denied,  that  the  silence  of  history  with  regard  to  the  high 
qualities,  the  gentle  virtues,  the  unmurmuring  patience  of  this 
much  wronged  princess,  her  unvarying  kindness  to  her  step¬ 
daughters,  Elizabeth  and  Mary,  her  domestic  excellencies,  and 
all  the  fine  points  of  her  character,  which  endeared  her  to  her 
subjects,  and  preserved  their  regard  when  she  became  their  fel¬ 
low  subject,  must  be  attributed  to  the  report  of  her  plainness 
of  person,  homeliness  of  habit,  and  entire  lack  of  all  the  qualifica¬ 
tions  which  we  attribute  to  a  gorgeous  queen,  or  a  heroine  of 
romance.  Happily,  for  her,  she  had  nothing  of  romance,  noth¬ 
ing  of  sensibility  or  sentiment  in  her  disposition.  She  had 
strong  sense  of  duty,  strong  love  of  right,  of  order,  of  deco¬ 
rum,  of  comfort ;  and,  under  circumstances  which,  to  a  person 
of  higher  excitability,  more  nervous  temperament,  and  greater 
need  of  sympathy,  would  have  been  a  cause  of  endless  mis¬ 
ery,  lived  happy,  and  died  honored,  in  a  far  country  and  among 
a  foreign  people,  with  whom  she  had  no  kindred  or  commu¬ 
nity,  even  of  language. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  king  was  aware  of  her  being 
deficient  in  those  accomplishments,  which  he  so  much  craved 
and  admired;  though  he  was  assured  that  she  possessed  the 


IIER  DEPARTURE. 


399 


talents,  which  would  easily  enable  her  to  acquire  them.  It  is 
not  probable,  that  this  was  the  case  ;  for,  though  she  was  by 
no  means  wanting  in  ability,  her  capacities  appear  to  have  been 
rather  administrative  and  domestic,  with  a  disposition  incli¬ 
ning  to  be  passive  and  acquiescent,  than  brilliant,  rapid,  or 
comprehensive. 

The  very  fact,  however,  that  he  so  lightly  accepted  a  bride 
deficient  in  all  the  mental  graces,  which  we  must  allow  him  to 
have  appreciated,  induces  the  opinion,  that  he  had  formed  the 
most  exalted  estimate  of  her  personal  beauties.  It  was  a  daring 
trick,  indeed,  if  it  were  a  trick,  that  Cromwell  played  on 
his  dangerous  master ;  if  an  error,  it  was  a  fatal  error.  In 
any  event,  it  ruined  him  beyond  redemption. 

But  to  return  to  the  course  of  events.  Some  small  delays 
occurred  to  the  arrangement  of  the  contract  of  marriage,  owing 
to  the  death  of  Anne’s  father,  and  to  some  talk  of  a  precon¬ 
tract,  which  was  said  to  have  existed  between  herself  and  the 
Duke  of  Lorraine.  But  these  difficulties  were  easily  over¬ 
come  ;  the  contract  of  marriage  was  signed  at  Dusseldorf  on 
the  4th  of  September,  1539,  and,  in  the  first  week  of  October, 
she  departed  from  that,  her  native  city,  and  proceeded  over¬ 
land,  with  a  splendid  cortege,  through  the  Netherlands,  to  her 
husband’s  French  stronghold  of  Calais.  There  she  was  met 
by  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  lord  high  admiral  of  England, 
the  Lord  William  Howard,  Gregory  Cromwell,  the  brother- 
in-law  of  the  late  queen,  and  a  splendid  train  of  gentlemen  and 
nobles.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  that,  in  that  train,  were  kinsmen 
of  five  out  of  Henry’s  six  queens. 

What  these  nobles  thought  of  the  person  of  their  new  queen, 
it  is  not  stated.  Whatever  was  their  opinion,  doubtless,  they 
kept  it  to  themselves ;  since  to  report  her  plain  in  case  the  king 


400 


SIIE  LANDS  IN  ENGLAND. 


might  chance  to  find  herhandsome,orhandsorne  if  he  should  judge 
her  plain,  would  have  been  equally  dangerous.  For  several 
days,  she  was  detained  at  Calais,  by  stress  of  weather,  and 
there  kept  her  Christmas,  royally  ;  probably  that  was  the 
pleasantest  insight  into  royalty  that  she  ever  enjoyed.  On  the 
27th  of  December,  she  took  ship,  landed  at  Walmer  castle, 
and  proceeded,  nobly  escorted,  to  Rochester,  where  she  was 
entertained  magnificently  by  the  bishop,  who  had  made  prep, 
aration  for  her  passing  New  Year’s  day  at  his  palace. 

Hither,  on  New  Year’s  eve,  came  Henry,  incognito ,  intend¬ 
ing  to  visit  her  privately  on  the  morrow,  in  order,  as  he  told 
Cromwell,  “  to  nourish  love  ” — and  hither  he  sent  Sir  Anthony 
Brown  to  inform  her,  that  “he  had  brought  her  a  New  Year’s 
gift,  if  she  would  please  to  receive  it.” 

Brown  stated  afterward,  “  that  he  was  struck  with  conster¬ 
nation  when  he  was  shown  the  queen ;  and  was  never  so  much 
dismayed  in  his  life  to  see  a  lady,  so  far  unlike  what  had  been 
represented.” 

Yet  greater,  it  seems,  was  the  dismay  of  Henry,  who,  in  his 
anxiety  to  see  his  new  bride,  in  whom,  probably,  he  expected 
to  find  something  that  should  surpass  in  beauty  the  serene  ma¬ 
jesty  of  Katharine  of  Arragon,  the  sparkling  grace  of  Anne 
Boleyn,  the  lovely  gentleness  of  Jane  Seymour,  entered  her 
apartment,  that  same  evening,  somewhat  abruptly,  unable  to 
control  his  impatience.  He  absolutely  recoiled,  when  he  saw 
her.  Lord  Russel,  who  Was  present  at  the  interview,  bears 
witnass,  that  he  “  never  saw  his  highness  abashed,  but  only 
then.” 

What  poor  Anne  thought  of  her  burly  bridegroom  we 
know  not ;  but  it  is  clear,  that  she  had  the  most  cause  to  com¬ 
plain  ;  for  Henry  had  lost  every  particle  of  the  robust  and 


henry’s  disappointment. 


401 


manly  beauty,  for  which  he  had  been  once  famous,  and  was 
now  merely  a  coarse,  bloated,  unwieldy  man,  bordering  on  his 
grand  climacteric,  and  bearing  on  his  broad,  red  face  the  traces 
of  all  sorts  of  indulgences,  physical  and  mental,  of  sensuality, 
pride,  cruelty  and  ungoverned  temper.  Probably,  she  was 
both  terrified  and  revolted  ;  the  rather,  that  he  was  in  one  of 
his  moods  of  sullen  fury  ;  she  sank  on  her  knees,  however,  at 
his  entrance,  and  tried,  to  the  best  of  her  power,  to  tender  him 
a  loving  welcome.  Furious,  as  he  was,  and  disappointed,  the 
meekness  and  humility  of  her  demeanor  so  far  moved  him, 
that,  he  for  once,  did  so  much  violence  to  his  feelings,  as  to 
behave  himself  like  a  gentleman ;  he  raised  her  up  graciously, 
kissed  her,  and  supped,  and  passed  the  evening  with  her;  yet, 
as  she  spoke  no  English,  he  no  Dutch,  and  as  scarce  twenty 
words  passed  between  them,  and  those  through  the  medium  of 
an  interpreter,  the  first  unfavorable  impression  was  not  like  to 
be  counteracted  ;  the  rather  that  her  German  accent  grated  as 
harshly  on  Henry’s  musical  ear,  as  her  large,  heavy  features 
offended  his  classic  eye. 

With  that  evening  interview,  all  his  forbearance  ended.  Wo 
betide  the  ministers  and  nobles  who  had  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
his  displeasure ! 

The  first  on  whom  he  fell  was  Southampton,  the  lord  high 
admiral,  who  had  brought  her  to  England — all  this  would  be 
ridiculous,  if  it  were  not  simply  brutal.  “  How  like  you  this 
woman  1  ”  was  his  first  salutation  to  the  earl.  “  Do  you 
think  her  so  personable,  fair  and  beautiful,  as  report  hath  been 
made  unto  me1?  I  pray  you  tell  me  true.”  “  I  take  her  not  for 
fair”  said  the  admiral,  who  evidently  did  not  mean  to  be 
held  amenable,  “but  to  be  of  a  brown  complexion.”  The  next 
on  whom  his  fury  burst  after  his  return  to  Greenwich,  whither 


402 


HIS  DISLIKE  TO  ANNE. 


he  rode  back  sulkily  and  alone,  having  sent  his  New  Year’s 
gift  of  a  rich  suit  of  sables,  which  he  did  not  consider  Anne  hand¬ 
some  enough  to  receive  from  his  own  hand,  with  a  cold  mes- 
siige,  by  Sir  Anthony  Brown,  was  Cromwell,  who  was  dearly 
to  rue  his  agency  in  this  matter.  On  seeing  him,  he  vituper¬ 
ated  him,  with  the  most  wholesale  abuse;  charged  him  with 
having  bound  him  to  “a  Flanders  mare,”  and  commanded 
him  on  his  peril  to  find  some  means  to  extricate  his  neck  from 
that  yoke. 

But  when  he  found  that  he  could  not  withdraw  without  giv¬ 
ing  the  German  princes  cause  of  war  against  him,  which  he 
could  not  afford  to  do  while  Spain  was  on  ill  terms  with  him 
on  account  of  his  conduct  toward  Katharine,  he  sullenly,  reluc¬ 
tantly,  and  with  many  brutal,  ungentlemanly  and  unmanly  ex¬ 
pressions  of  disgust  and  dislike,  celebrated  and  consummated 
his  marriage  with  this  gentle,  unoffending,  dignified  and  virtu¬ 
ous  lady,  who  was  as  far  superior  to  him  in  every  particular, 
as  Hyperion  to  a  Satyr,  which  he  most  resembled. 

The  pomps  were  splendid,  the  pageantry  magnificent,  and 
to  those  of  the  commons,  who  were  ignorant  of  the  guilty  and 
brutal  secrets  of  the  royal  breast,  the  content  of  the  king  was 
considered  perfect ;  while  he  was,  in  truth,  secretly  devising 
how  he  might  get  rid  of  his  newly  wedded  queen,  and  on  what 
grounds  or  charges  he  might  compass  the  death  of  Cromwell 
whom  he  had  determined  to  destroy,  in  requital  of  his  agency 
in  this  detested  marriage. 

To  the  other  odious  qualities  of  his  character,  Henry  had  now 
added  consummate  hypocrisy  ;  and,  while  he  was  living  with 
her  as  man  and  wife,  showing  her  much  outward  attention,  and 
calling  her  “  sweetheart,”  and  “  darling,”  in  the  presence  of 
her  ladies,  he  was  privately  tormenting  her  with  his  captious 


GROUNDS  FOR  THE  DIVORCE. 


403 


temper,  irritating  her  by  every  species  of  taunt  and  aggrava¬ 
tion,  and,  yet  worse  and  more  infamously  impugning  her  vir¬ 
tue,  in  private,  as  if  she  had  not  come  a  virgin  to  his  bed,  and 
declaring,  in  public,  that  it  never  had  been  his  intention  to  own 
her  his  wife. 

How  to  get  rid  of  her,  however,  appears  to  have  been  the 
difficulty  ;  and,  as  was  usual  with  him,  when  he  was  planning 
any  unusual  enormity,  he  began  to  talk  about  his  tenderness 
of  conscience,  and  his  scruples  at  living  with  a  heretic  Lutheran  ; 
when  happily,  perhaps,  for  herself,  she  let  fall  an  expression, 
which  enabled  him  to  release  himself  from  her,  without  accu¬ 
sing  her  of  adultery,  shedding  her  blood,  or  shaming  her  hon¬ 
est  name  by  any  charge  of  infamy. 

Driven  one  day  to  extremity  by  his  irritating  persecution, 
when  she  was  conscious  of  striving  to  the  utmost  of  her  abil¬ 
ity  to  gratify  his  every  whim,  she  was  provoked  into  saying  to 
him,  “  that  if  she  had  not  been  compelled  to  marry  him,  she 
might  have  fulfilled  her  engagement  to  another,  to  whom  she 
had  promised  her  hand.”  This  was  enough. 

It  gave  him  a  clue,  on  which  he  was  not  slow  to  act ;  but, 
first,  he  had  work  of  blood  and  vengeance  to  perform  ;  and 
from  work  like  that,  he  never  held  back  his  hand.  Reginald 
de  la  Pole  had  given  him  fresh  offence,  and  he  was  resolved  to 
punish  him  by  the  judicial  slaughter  of  the  last  of  his  kindred. 
Gertrude,  marchioness  of  Exeter,  and  De  la  Pole’s  mother, 
the  last  of  the  high  blood  of  the  Plantagenets,  the  aged  Coun¬ 
tess  of  Salisbury,  must  be  brought  to  the  block,  in  order  that 
the  king  might  be  avenged  on  his  enemy.  There  was  no 
proof,  no  charge,  no  shadow  of  offence  against  them,  but,  at 
Henry’s  order,  Cromwell  procured  their  attainder,  by  act  of 
parliament,  without  hearing,  and  their  condemnation  to  death, 


404 


IS 

VENGEANCE  ON  CROMWELL. 


without  witnesses,  written  evidence  or  criminal  process.  This 
was  an  enormous  villainy  of  Cromwell’s  own  creation,  a  high¬ 
handed  outrage  on  law  and  justice,  which  he  had  been  the  first 
to  introduce  into  the  desecrated  courts  of  England.  Peril]  us- 
like,  he  was  the  first  to  suffer  by  his  own  monstrous  creation. 
He  had  taught 

“  Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 

To  plague  the  inventor." 

The  unhappy  ladies  were  committed  to  the  tower,  reprieved 
for  a  while,  and  detained  as  hostages  for  their  kinsman’s  good 
behavior,  yet  not  to  escape,  one  of  them,  at  least,  the  dread 
conclusion  of  the  scaffold  and  the  axe.  But  Cromwell,  so  soon 
as  he  had  accomplished  this  last  crime,  as  if,  with  truly  fiend¬ 
ish  malignity,  Henry  had  resolved  that  he  should  jeopard  his 
own  soul,  before  he  would  destroy  his  body,  was  arrested,  on 
a  charge  of  heresy  and  high  treason,  by  the  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
at  the  very  council  board,  over  which  he  had  so  long  presided. 
He  was  brought  to  the  block  with  all  speed,  by  the  method  he 
had  himself  introduced,  of  attainder,  without  trial,  hearing,  or 
opportunity  of  defence.  On  the  10th  of  June  he  was  ar¬ 
rested  ;  on  the  28th  of  J uly,  he  laid  down  his  head  on  the 
block,  and  died  on  Tower  hill,  professing  himself  a  Catholic 
and  no  heretic,  to  the  last ;  guiltless,  certainly,  of  the  crimes 
for  which  he  suffered,  but  surely  worthy  of  death,  for  the  very 
many  wickednesses  he  had  aided  the  king  to  commit,  and  for 
the  very  many  innocent  victims  he  had  sent  before  him,  on 
the  bloody  way  he  was  himself  bound  so  soon  to  travel. 

The  son  of  a  blacksmith,  he  rose,  by  no  good  arts,  but  by 
the  practice  of  all  evil  ones,  by  pandering  basely  to  the  passions, 
ministering  to  the  willfulness,  and  furnishing  weapons  to  the 
wickedness  of  the  king,  to  be  lord  privy  seal,  viceregent  to  the 


CROMWELL  AND  BARNES. 


405 


king,  in  spiritualities,  knight  of  the  garter,  earl  of  Essex,  lord 
great  chamberlain  of  England.  While  the  king  had  work  for 
him,  he  used  him ;  when  the  work  was  done,  he  broke  him 
and  cast  him  away.  Like  Haman,  he  was  hanged  upon  the 
gallows  he  had  erected  for  Mordecai,  and  there  were  none  who 
pitied  him. 

Nearly  at  the  same  time,  another,  but  a  blameless,  victim 
to  his  agency  in  this  inauspicious  and  unhappy  marriage,  the 
pious  and  learned  Doctor  Barnes,  perished  yet  more  cruelly. 
He  was  patronized  and  beloved  by  Anne,  yet  Anne  could  uot 
save  him.  He  died  nobly,  a  martyr  for  his  principles  and  his 
faith,  in  the  devouring  flames,  in  Smithficld. 

It  is  credible,  that  recourse  was  had  to  these  arrests  and 
prosecutions,  for  the  purpose  of  intimidating  the  queen,  and 
deterring  her  from  opposing  the  will  of  her  tyrant  lord.  For 
he  had  now  seen  Katharine  Howard — whom  he  had  first  met  at 
a  dinner  party  at  the  Bishop  of  Winchester’s,  and  appointed 
maid  of  honor  to  the  queen — long  enough  to  love  her,  and  de¬ 
termine  on  raising  her  to  the  crown.  And,  within  a  few  days 
after  the  arrest  of  Cromwell,  Anne  of  Cleves  was  commanded 
to  withdraw  herself  to  Richmond,  on  the  pretence  that  she 
needed  change  of  air.  Yet  a  few  days  afterward,  some  of  the 
very  lords,  who  had  been  instrumental  in  bringing  about  her 
marriage,  moved  the  peers,  on  the  ground  that  they  doubted 
the  validity  of  the  contracted  alliance,  and  had  fears  concern¬ 
ing  the  succession,  to  petition  the  king  for  leave  to  call  a  cler¬ 
ical  convention,  and  inquire  into  the  question,  to  decide  on  it 
according  to  the  law.  Whether  intimidation  was  intended  or 
no — and  I  doubt  not  it  was — indisputably,  it  was  effected  ;  as 
is  evident,  from  the  agony  of  terror,  into  which  this  unhappy 
lady  fell,  when  Suffolk,  Southampton,  and  Wriothesley  visited 


406 


DIVORCE  OF  ANNE. 


her  at  Richmond,  in  order  to  convey  to  her  the  king’s  deter 
mination. 

For  the  matter  had  been  pushed  rapidly  forward,  as  was, 
indeed,  everything  that  Henry  undertook,  from  ‘he  moment 
of  its  first  inception.  The  king  had  answered  the  lords’  peti¬ 
tion  cheerfully,  as  if  he  were  doing  a  great  favor  to  the  coun¬ 
try,  professing  himself^  willing  to  take  any  measures  that 
should  be  for  the  good  of  his  well  beloved  people,  and  ready 
to  answer  any  questions,  that  might  be  proposed  to  him  for 
that  end. 

The  convocation  of  the  clergy  was  held,  and,  on  the  9th  day  of 
July,  unanimously  declared  the  marriage  null,  on  three 
grounds ;  first,  that  she  was  precontracted  to  the  Prince  of 
Lorraine ;  second,  that  the  king  had  wedded  her  against  his 
will,  and  had  never  given  his  inward  consent  to  the  consum¬ 
mation  of  the  marriage ;  and  third,  that  there  were  no  hopes 
of  issue. 

,  When  the  three  councillors  entered  her  apartment,  at  Rich¬ 
mond,  of  whom  Suffolk  was  the  constant  instrument  of  Hen¬ 
ry’s  matrimonial  tyrannies,  and  W riothesley,  the  basest,  mean¬ 
est,  and  cruellest  of  all  his  low-born  tools,  conspicuously  infa¬ 
mous  for  his  rudeness  and  brutality  to  ladies,  mindful  of  the 
fate  of  Anne  Boleyn,  the  queen  fell  fainting  to  the  floor  in  an 
agony  of  terror.  It  required  all  their  assurances  to  soothe  her 
and  banish  her  terrors ;  but  when  she  learned,  that  no  more 
was  required  of  her,  than  to  consent  to  the  divorce,  and,  in  so 
far  as  she  might,  to  reconcile  her  brother  and  friends  thereto, 
she  consented  with  almost  too  much  cheerfulness  and  alacrity. 
Henry,  who  could  not  conceive  that  his  persecuted  and  aban¬ 
doned  wives  should  do  otherwise  than  idolize  him,  to  the  last, 
was  aston'shed  ;  it  was  too  good  news  to  be  true.  Nevertho-- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  CLEVES. 


407 


less,  it  was  true.  Anne  not  only  professed  her  perfect  willing¬ 
ness  to  pleasure  the  king  in  all  things,  but  returned  him  her 
wedding  ring ;  spoke  of  her  marriage  as  pretended  ;  accepted 
with  thankfulness  her  allotted  rank  of  the  king’s  adopted  sis¬ 
ter,  which  was  given  to  her,  with  precedence  over  all  ladies  in 
the  realm,  except  the  future  queen  and  the  king’s  daughters, 
Elizabeth  and  Mary  ;  and  agreed  to  carry  on  no  correspond¬ 
ence  with  her  family  abroad,  which  should  not  be  subject  to 
the  king’s  inspection.  This  done,  she  received  grants  of  three 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  in  lands,  most  of  them  the  forfeited 
property  of  Cromwell,  who  died,  unpitied,  a  few  days  after  her 
divorce,  but  on  the  condition  only,  that  she  should  reside 
within  the  realm.  Richmond  palace  was  assigned  to  her  as  a 
residence ;  and  there,  with  a  peaceful  little  cours,  and  among 
ladies  assigned  to  her,  after  those  had  been  dismissed,  who 
were  sworn  to  attend  her  as  queen,  she  lived  contentedly, 
merrily,  and  in  happiness,  not  often  granted  to  ladies  who  sat, 
in  those  days,  on  England’s  thorny  throne. 

Cranraer  pronounced  her  divorce.  It  was  the  strange  fate 
of  this  man,  thrice  to  pronounce  the  same  marriages  of  his 
master  valid  and  invalid.*  If  the  old  Earl  of  Warwick,  in  a 
former  reign,  excited  wonder,  as  the  king-maker,  surely  this 
prelate  should  have  excited  greater  wonder,  who  made  and  un¬ 
made  three  queens  of  England,  without  a  cause  for  making,  or 
pretext  for  unmaking  one. 

Anne,  who  signed  herself,  hereafter,  “  daughter  of  Cleves,” 
was  evidently  detained,  in  some  sort,  as  a  hostage  for  the 
peaceable  conduct  of  her  German  relatives  ;  among  whom,  her 
brother,  the  reigning  Duke  of  Cleves,  was  thrown  into  a  rage 
of  grief  and  indignation,  and  wept  burning  tears  of  humiliation 
at  hearing  of  the  disgrace  and  repudiation  of  his  beloved  sister 


408 


henry’s  suspicions. 


who,  evidently  from  the  tenor  of  more  than  one  of  her  letters 
to  him,  enjoining  on  him  caution  and  quietude,  considered  that 
her  life  might  be  endangered  by  any  “  untowardness  ”  on  his 
part. 

Twice  she  fell  under  suspicion  from  the  jealous  king,  who 
ever  kept  a  watchful  eye  of  espoinage  over  his  adopted  sister’s 
doings,  and  both  times  for  the  same  cause — a  false  rumor  of 
her  being  pregnant.  The  first  time,  immediately  after  his 
marriage  with  Katharine  Howard,  when  between  his  love  for 
his  new  doll,  and  his  furious  desire  for  heirs,  it  was  something 
doubtful,  whether  he  wished  or  feared  that  the  rumor  should 
prove  true  —  the  second  time,  after  the  fall  of  the  fair  and 
frail  Howard.  On  both  occasions,  the  rumors  were  easily 
proved  false ;  but,  on  the  latter,  one  of  her  ladies,  Elizabeth 
Basset,  who  had  exclaimed,  when  she  heard  of  that  unhappy 
girl’s  execution,  “  What  a  man  the  king  is !  and  how  many 
waves  will  he  have?”  had  some  difficulty  in  saving  her  own 
head,  and  only  got  off,  by  declaring  that  the  tidings  of  Katha¬ 
rine  Howard’s  naughtiness  had  so  far  astounded  her,  that  she 
must  have  lost  her  senses  when  she  used  those  words. 

Anne  of  Cleves,  in  all  these  difficult  matters,  showed  con¬ 
summate  prudence  and  judgment.  She  dressed  splendidly  ; 
entered  largely  into  all  sports  and  diversions ;  kept  a  liberal 
household,  partly  after  the  old  English  open  hospitality,  partly 
after  the  decorous  fashion  of  German  economy  ;  and,  whether 
that  she  really  was  exuberantly  rejoiced  to  be  free  from  the 
perilous  chains  of  royal  wedlock,  or  merely  that  she  affected 
excessive  happiness,  in  order  to  lull  to  sleep  Henry’s  suspi¬ 
cions,  showed  herself  much  livelier,  cheerfuller,  and  more 
openly  gay,  after  the  dissolution  of  her  marriage,  than  she  had 


HENRY  VISITS  HER. 


409 


ever  been  during  its  pendency,  when  she  was  probably  dis¬ 
tracted  with  anxieties  and  apprehensions. 

Henry  visited  her,  not  unfrequently  at  Richmond,  and  al¬ 
ways  found  a  pleasant  and  light-hearted  welcome  from  her. 
During  the  brief  reign  of  her  successor,  Katharine  Howard,  she 
was  once  a  visitor  of  the  royal  pair,  and  passed  some  days 
with  them  at  the  royal  residence  of  Hampton  Court ;  but 
when,  after  her  rival’s  bloody  death,  her  friends,  in  Germany, 
and  the  Protestant  party  in  England,  hoped  and  endeavored 
to  reinstate  her,  she  held  prudently  but  positively  aloof,  un¬ 
willing,  if  it  had  been  offered  to  her,  to  resume  the  dangerous 
dignity  from  which  she  had  so  happily  escaped. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  Hever  castle,  the  patrimony  of  Anne 
Boleyn,  of  which  the  king  had,  with  his  usual  grasping  tyr¬ 
anny,  possessed  himself  on  her  murder,  became  one  of  the 
jointure  houses  of  Anne  of  Cl  eves,  to  which  was  added,  in 
exchange  for  the  manor  of  Blitchingley,  which  was  also  her 
property,  Penshurst,  famous  in  after  days,  as  the  birth-place 
of  the  gallant  Sir  Philip  Sydney.  Here,  and  at  her  other  ru¬ 
ral  manors,  the  noble  daughter  of  Clevcs  happily  and  tran¬ 
quilly  passed  the  noon  of  her  life.  She  had  become  thor¬ 
oughly  English  in  her  heart  and  feelings,  and  lived  the  life 
— useful,  serene,  and  tranquil,  but  noiseless  and  unshining, — of 
a  noble  English  lady.  When  she  appeared  in  public,  the  pre 
cedence,  which  had  been  guaranteed  to  her,  was  unhesitatingly 
accorded.  But  that  was  not  often,  for  she  shunned  splendor 
and  sought  repose.  She  lived  in  the  closest  amity  with  her 
step-daughters, — the  Protestant  Elizabeth,  as  with  the  Romish 
and  priest-ridden  Mary, — as  the  constant  interchange  of  gifts 
and  good  offices  between  them,  and  the  bequests  to  them  in 
her  last  testament,  clearly  evinces.  Her  last  public  appear 
R 


410 


HER  DEATH  AND  MONUMENT. 


ance  was  at  the  inauspicious  marriage  of  the  latter  princess  to 
Philip  of  Spain,  a  union  which  entailed  misery  on  her  coun¬ 
try,  infamy  and  detestation  on  her  name.  “  The  daughter  of 
Cleves  ”  survived  her  barbarous  and  brutal  lord  by  ten  years, 
and,  by  his  death,  was  at  liberty  if  she  chose  it,  again  to  try 
the  bitters  and  the  sweets  of  the  matrimonial  cup ;  but  her 
experience  was  not  such  as  to  tempt  her  to  the  trial.  She 
died  as  she  had  lived,  an  honorable,  unpretending,  happy,  En¬ 
glish  lady ;  but  strange  to  say,  having  entered  that  Protestant 
realm,  a  Protestant,  she  left  it,  when  she  died,  a  Papist.  She 
died  peacefully,  at  the  palace  in  Chelsea,  of  a  declining  sick¬ 
ness,  in  the  forty-first  year  of  her  age,  leaving  a  will  singularly 
indicative  of  her  amiable  and  gentle  character.  “Her  benefi 
cent  spirit,”  says  Miss  Strickland,  with  much  truth,  “was 
wholly  occupied  in  deeds  of  mercy,  caring  for  the  happiness 
of  her  maidens  and  alms-children,  and  forgetting  not  any  faith¬ 
ful  servant,  however  lowly  in  degree.” 

Many  more  beautiful  and  showy  women,  many  greater  and 
more  celebrated  queens  have  gone  to  their  long  homes,  but 
few,  if  any,  more  highly  endowed  with  all  the  best  and  sweet 
est  qualities  of  womanhood. 

She  was  buried,  by  Queen  Mary’s  order,  with  some  mag¬ 
nificence,  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Her  tomb  occupies  a  place 
of  great  honor,  near  the  high  altar,  at  the  feet  of  King  Sebert, 
the  original  founder  of  that  minster  church  ;  but  it  is  rarely 
recognized,  though  on  a  close  inspection  her  initials,  A.  C.,  in¬ 
terwoven  in  a  monogram,. may  be  discovered  on  various  parts 
of  the  structure,  which  was  never  finished.  “  Not  one  of 
Henry’s  wives,”  says  Fuller,  “  excepting  Anne  of  Cleves,  had 
a  monument,  and  hers  was  but  a  half  a  one.” 


KATHARINE  HOWARD. 

MARRIED,  1640  ;  BEHEADED,  1641. 


Was  she  chaste  and  fair. 

Worthy  a  king's,  or  more,  a  Roman's  bed  ? 

How  lived,  how  loved,  how  died  she? 

Byron.  C  kiltie  I  Tar  <Ad, 


KATHARINE  HOWARD. 

» 

BORN,  1522  ;  MARRIED,  1540;  BEHEADED,  1542- 


Was  she  chaste  and  fair, 
Worthy  a  king's,  or  more,  a  Roman  s  bed. 

How  lived,  how  loved,  how  died  she? 

Bvbon. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Histort,  in  all  its  sad  details,  has  no  sadder  tale  than  this 
of  the  young,  beautiful,  unhappy  Howard,  whom  youth,  sta¬ 
tion,  beauty  seem  only  to  have  betrayed  into  deeper  and  more 
inevitable  ruin.  In  all  England’s  splendid  and  illustrious  ar¬ 
istocracy,  there  is  no  nobler  name  than  that  from  which  she 
sprang;  and  at  no  period,  earlier  or  later,  of  English  history 
was  that  noble  name  more  gloriously  or  more  constantly 
brought  before  the  public,  than  during  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 
In  the  first  brilliaut  years  of  his  sway,  full  of  promise  and  pros¬ 
perity,  before  one  trait  of  his  evil  passions  had  developed  it¬ 
self,  while  he  was  yet,  to  all  eyes,  the  brave,  intelligent,  aspi- 
ring  youth,  full  of  the  high,  mingled  blood  of  the  Tudors  and 
Plantagenets,  eager  to  win  honor  and  renown  from,  then,  he-' 
reditarily  hostile  France,  one  scion  of  this  noble  name  distin¬ 
guished  himself  by  his  gallant  bearing  and  glorious  death,  as 


414 


THE  HOWARDS. 


lord  high  admiral  of  England,  the  brave,  blunt,  truly  En 
glish  sailor,  Sir  Edward  Howard.  He  left,  in  his  testament, 
the  gold  and  jewelled  cup  of  Thomas  a  Becket  to  Queen  Kath¬ 
arine  of  Arragon,  and  to  the  king  his  golden  whistle,  the  in¬ 
signia  which  belonged,  of  right,  to  his  office,  and  which  he  sus¬ 
pended  about  his  neck  by  a  chain  of  the  same  precious  metal. 
It  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  grander  and"nobler  legatee.  Boarding  a 
French  galliot,  under  the  batteries  of  the  bay  of  Conquet,  he 
was  unsupported  by  his  men,  and  died,  fighting  desperately 
against  the  pikes  of  the  enemy,  thus  making  good  in  his  death 
his  favorite  maxim,  that  the  valor  of  a  sailor  ought  to  be  akin 
to  madness.  Before  he  fell,  however,  he  cast  his  whistle  into 
the  waves,  that  it  should  not  be  a  trophy  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  It  is  not  unfit  that  the  sea  should  receive  the  noble 
legacy  of  one  dying  English  admiral,  when  so  many  of  those 
nave  won  their  laurels  from  the  sea. 

To  him  succeeded,  as  high  admiral,  his  brother,  the  Lord 
Thomas  Howard ;  for  at  that  time  the  distinction  was  not 
clearly  defined,  between  the  sea  and  land  services,  and  even  at 
a  much  later  date  we  find  instances  of  admirals,  such  as  Co 
ligny  and  D'Andelot,  performing  the  duties  of  generals  by 
land  ;  and  of  generals,  on  the  other  hand,  commanding  ships 
at  sea.  In  fact,  the  services  were  not  distinct ;  for  the  crew 
who  worked  the  ship,  under  marine  officers,  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  fighting  of  it ;  while  the  men-at-arms,  who  fought  un¬ 
der  the  command  of  their  own  captains,  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  nautical  manoeuvres,  and  probably  scarce  knew  the  stem 
from  the  stern  of  the  vessel. 

In  the  terrible  and  glorious  victory  of  Flodden,  which  was 
won  by  his  father,  the  gallant  Earl  of  Surrey,  Sir  Thomas  led 
the  English  van,  on  which  fell  the  brunt  of  the  action,  and 


THE  BIRTH  OF  KATHARINE. 


415 


which  was  for  a  considerable  time  in  much  jeopardy,  being 
oppressed  by  numbers,  and  nearly  borne  down  by  the  serried 
phalanx  of  Scottish  spears,  under  Lennox  and  Argyle.  Under 
Sir  Thomas,  served  yet  another  brother,  Edmund,  who  showed 
singular  valor  in  the  action,  and  was  thrice  dismounted,  three 
horses  being  killed  under  him.  For  their  share  in  this  vic¬ 
tory,  the  Earl  of  Surrey  was  elevated  to  the  dukedom  of  Nor¬ 
folk,  Lord  Thomas  to  the  earldom  of  Surrey,  and  an  augmen¬ 
tation  was  granted  to  the  arms  of  Howard,  the  upper  half  of  a 
red  lion,  the  royal  bearing  of  Scotland,  pierced  with  an  arrow. 

This  Sir  Edmund — who  was  one  of  the  noble  bachelors  who 
followed  Mary  of  England  in  her  bridal  train  to  France,  in 
which  figured  also  his  lovely  niece,  daughter  of  his  own  sister, 
Anne  Boleyn — married  Joyeuse,  or  Jocosa,  daughter  of  Sir 
Richard  Culpepper,  of  Hollingbourne,  in  Kent,  and  widow  of 
Sir  John  Leigh.  By  her  he  had  three  sons,  first,  and  there¬ 
after  three  daughters,  the  second  of  whom  is  the  subject  of  this 
memoir,  being,  in  a  word,  his  fifth  child.  Now,  supposing  Sir 
Edmund  to  have  been  married  in  the  autumn  of  the  very 
year  in  which  we  find  him  a  bachelor,  that  is  to  say,  1515,  it 
is  impossible  that  his  fifth  child  could  have  been  born  previ¬ 
ous  to  the  close  of  the  year  1520,  or  the  commencement  of 
1521. 

There  is  an  object  in  this  calculation,  as  will  appear  here¬ 
after,  stronger  than  the  mere  verification  of  a  date ;  since  to 
her  extreme  youth  may  be  ascribed  all  the  imprudencies  and 
miseries  of  this  unhappy  girl,  and  on  it  must  be  founded  all 
that  we  can  ofler  in  her  apology. 

Early  in  Katharine’s  childhood  her  own  mother  died  —  the 
greatest  misfortune,  beyond  doubt,  that  can  befall  a  woman — 
and  her  father  married,  a  second  time,  Dorothy,  the  daughter 


116 


TIIE  CHILDHOOD  OF  KATHARINE. 


of  Lord  Troyes.  The  old  and  noble  duke,  the  Earl  of  Sur 
rey  of  Flodden,  dying  shortly  after  Edmund’s  first  ■wife,  Sir 
Thomas,  afterward  created  Earl  Surrey,  became  duke ;  and 
Sir  Edmund,  being  about  this  time  appointed  controller  of 
Calais  and  its  marches,  availed  himself  of  the  offer  of  his  step¬ 
mother,  Agnes  Tylney,  the  dowager  duchess,  to  bring  up  the 
little  Katharine  in  her  household. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  that  at  this  period  it  was  not  the 
general  use  of  parents,  especially  of  royal  or  very  noble  houses, 
to  bring  up  their  children  at  home,  but  rather  to  place  them 
out  in  other  households  of  equal  rank,  where  they  were  educa¬ 
ted,  it  seems  to  have  been  supposed,  better  and  more  strin¬ 
gently — a  certain  degree  of  honorable  semi-servitude  being 
then  considered  necessary  to  the  formation  of  the  youth  of 
both  sexes — than  they  could  have  been  under  the  domestic 
roof.  Iu  this  instance,  the  practice  was  the  ruin  of  Katharine. 

Of  the  character  or  history  of  this  Agnes  Tylney,  the  old 
duchess  of  Norfolk,  as  she  was  called,  to  distinguish  her  from 
the  wife  of  her  step-son,  little  is  known  ;  and  that  little  equally 
unfavorable  to  the  qualities  of  her  heart  and  of  her  head,  but 
more  especially  of  the  latter.  She  appears,  in  the  circumstances 
brought  up  by  this  sad  case,  to  have  been  a  person  of  no  judg¬ 
ment,  a  vain,  talkative,  weak,  gossipping  old  woman,  without 
either  prudence  or  common  sense. 

She  was  continually  at  feud,  and,  it  would  seem,  engaged 
in  lawsuits  with  her  step-sons,  especially  with  the  present  duke ; 
to  which  must,  apparently,  be  attributed  the  rancorous  enmity 
exhibited  by  that  nobleman  to  both  his  unfortunate  nieces,  at 
times  when  their  cruel  situation  most  claimed  the  sympathy 
if  not  the  succor  and  support,  of  a  kinsman. 

The  duchess,  at  the  time  when  Katharine  was  committed  to 


MANOX  THE  MUSICIAN. 


417 


nor  charge,  resided  at  Lambeth,  which  was  a  very  general  re¬ 
sort  of  Henry’s  nobles  and  courtiers,  being  regarded  as  one  of 
the  most  pleasant  and  fashionable  quarters  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
court,  with  fine  lawns,  orchards,  and  gardens,  sloping  to  the 
river,  and  numerous  palatial  residences,  among  which  were 
those  of  Katharine’s  uncles,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  Lord 
William  Howard,  as  also  of  the  Lord  Beaumont,  and  other 
great  persons. 

In  the  court  of  her  elder  niece,  Anne  Boleyn,  the  old  count¬ 
ess  played  a  somewhat  prominent  part,  figuring  both  in  her 
coronation  and  in  the  christening  of  Elizabeth,  the.  two  events 
taking  place  in  the  same  year,  1533  —  a  fatal  one,  indeed,  to 
the  unhappy  Katharine,  who  was  now  only  in  her  thirteenth 
yeai.  We  know  so  little  of  the  interior  and  domestic  ar¬ 
rangements  of  the  great  baronial  houses  of  this  day,  that  it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  say  how  far  the  circumstances  of  this 
child’s  ruin — for  she  was  but  a  child  —  are  to  be  attributed  to 
especial  neglect  on  the  part  of  the  duchess,  and  how  far  they 
are  ascribable  only  to  the  lax  system  and  rude  and  vicious 
habits  of  the  time.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  she  was  made 
to  associate  with  waiting  women,  persons  not  of  family  or  sta 
tion,  as  their  names  clearly  indicate,  but  mere  servants,  living 
among  them,  and  sleeping  at  night  with  them,  in  the  same 
common  dormitory.  And,  melancholy  to  relate,  they  chanced 
to  be  the  most  depraved  of  their  sex. 

There  was  in  the  household  of  the  duchess,  one  Henry  Ma- 
nox,  a  player  of  virginals — it  is  worthy  of  remark  in  this  con¬ 
nection,  that  at  this  time,  and  long  after,  the  musicians,  lute- 
players,  and  singers  of  the  court  society,  perform  a  large  part, 
in  all  the  most  disgraceful  intrigues  of  the  day.  Low  born, 
and  often  illiterate  men,  raised  for  the  most  part  by  their  mu 
R*  27 


418 


INTIMACY  OF  KATHARINE  AND  MANOX. 


aioal  talents  from  the  dregs  of  society,  not  gentlemen  from  in. 
nate  instincts,  education,  or  high  feeling,  and  yet  raised  by  their 
art,  and  by  their  position  as  instructors,  to  a  certain  station  of 
equality  among  gentlemen,  and  to  terms  of  intimacy  with  their 
pupils,  their  standing  in  the  community  was  anomalous,  their 
influence  was  almost  invariably  evil,  and  themselves,  for  the 
most  part,  thorough  profligates  and  villains.  This  Manox  had 
become  intimate  with  the  unlucky  child,  at  Horsham,  the  coun¬ 
try  place  of  the  duchess,  in  Norfolk ;  and,  though  he  had  not 
seduced  her,  which  her  tender  years  forbade,  he  had  obtained 
a  fearful  degree  of  intimacy  with  her;  had  brought  her  to  con¬ 
sent  to  a  clandestine  correspondence  with  him,  which  was  car¬ 
ried  on,  in  succession,  by  two  of  the  duchess’s  women,  one 
Mistress  Isabel,  and,  after  her,  one  Dorothy  Barwyke.  About 
this  juncture,  a  person  named  Mary  Lascelles,  entered  the  house¬ 
hold  of  the  duchess;  she  had  been  nurse  to  the  Lord  William 
Howard’s  first  child,  and,  on  the  death  of  his  wife,  was  engaged 
to  attend  the  youthful  Katharine.  This  woman,  speedily  dis¬ 
covering,  from  the  prattling  of  the  servants,  that  there  were 
love  passages  between  the  young  lady  and  the  musician,  re¬ 
proached  him  violently  ;  threatened  him  for  his  presumption, 
and  concluded  by  telling  him,  “She  is  come  of  a  noble  house, 
and  if  thou  shouldst  marry  her,  some  of  her  house  would  kill 
thee.”  He  replied,  in  the  most  profligate  language,  avowing 
openly  that  he  thought  not  of  marriage,  that  his  intentions 
were  dishonorable,  and  that,  from  the  liberties  Katharine  had 
permitted  him,  he  was  confident  of  success. 

This  infamous  Lascelles,  who,  after  ruining  the  girl,  in  the  end 
betrayed  the  queen,  and  brought  her  to  the  block,  instead  of  re¬ 
porting  this  villainy  to  theduchess,  who  might  have  prevented  far 
tiier  misery  and  shame,  told  Katharine  herself  what  had  passed 


FRANCIS  DEREIIAM. 


419 


and,  although  the  poor  child  answered,  in  her  shame  and  in¬ 
dignation,  that  “she  cared  not  for  him,”  she  immediately  gave 
the  lie  to  her  own  words,  by  going,  in  the  company  of  this 
base  woman,  in  search  of  the  virginal  player,  to  the  servant’s 
hall  of  Lord  Beaumont,  where  she  found  and  upbraided  him 
with  his  infamy  ;  but  on  his  pleading  the  excess  of  passion  as 
his  excuse,  saying  “  that  he  was  mad,  and  knew  not  what  he 
said,”  she  had  the  weakness  to  forgive  him.  She  was  once 
seen  in  his  company,  afterward,  walking  in  the  orchard  of  the 
duchess  with  him  at  Lambeth. 

Such  is  the  history,  a  sad  one  and  pitiable,  of  her  first  lapse 
from  discretion,  if  not  from  virtue.  If  she  were  innocent  in 
fact,  it  was  her  tender  years  alone, that  protected  her;  chance, 
not  steadiness  or  honor,  that  preserved  her.  Of  the  villain, 
Manox,  no  more  is  known ;  nor  does  he  again  figure  in  his¬ 
tory,  until  he  is  found,  shortly  previous  to  the  concluding 
tragedy,  a  musician  in  the  king’s  household,  into  which,  like 
another  infamous  person,  Joan  Bulmer,  a  confidant  of  her 
guilty  indiscretions  in  early  youth,  who  called  herself  Katha¬ 
rine’s  secretary,  he  had  compelled  the  queen  to  procure  his 
tdmission,  by  threats  of  disclosure. 

The  next  case  is  more  conclusive,  not  of  indiscretion,  but  of 
actual  guilt,  infamy,  and  turpitude  almost  inconceivable.  A 
bold,  wild,  dashing  cavalier,  named  Francis  Dereham,  a  gen¬ 
tleman  pensioner  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  who  maintained  a 
band  of  these  daring  desperadoes,  fierce  profligate  hangers  on, 
the  last  remains  of  the  feudal  retainers  of  the  middle  ages,  a 
bold,  handsome,  insinuating  man,  an  especial  favorite  of  the 
old  duchess,  and  a  distant  blood  relation  of  the  family,  sue 
ceeded  next  to  make  himself  master,  not  of  her  heart  only, 
but  of  her  person. 


420 


DEKEHAM  IN  IIEH  APARTMENT. 


Of  the  fact,  there  is  no  doubt ;  it  cannot  be  disputed  or  con 
coaled  ;  nor  did  Katharine  herself  attempt  to  deny  it,  although 
she  persisted,  to  the  last,  in  asserting  that  all  the  favors  he  ob¬ 
tained  from  her,  were  obtained  by  violence.  This,  however 
is  totally  disproved,  and  rendered  impossible  by  the  circum 
stances,  which  are  too  gross  and  revolting  for  detail  or 
comment. 

This  Dereham,  as  it  was  shown,  and  admitted,  on  her  trial, 
had  obtained  means  of  access  to  the  women’s  dormitory,  after 
the  duchess  had  locked  the  door,  as  was  her  wont,  and  retired 
for  the  night.  Hither  he  used  to  repair  often,  bringing  with 
him  wine,  strawberries,  and  other  dainties,  to  regale  the  young 
lady  of  his  lawless  love,  and  her  attendants ;  and  there,  it  was 
notorious  that  he  was  almost  openly  admitted  to  possession  of 
her  charms. 

.  There  is  much  reason  to  believe  that  she  truly  loved  this  bold, 
bad  man,  and  some,  to  suspect  that  she  was  troth-plighted  to 
him.  It  was  shown  that  they  were  in  the  habit  of  kissing  and 
caressing  each  other  publicly,  before  witnesses,  and  calling  each 
other  husband  and  wife.  Dereham  was  wont  to  procure  her 
articles  of  dress  and  feminine  finery,  at  her  request,  at  his  own 
expense  ;  she  wore  embroidered  pansies  for  “  remembrance  ” 
of  him,  and  friar’s  knots  for  “  Francis  ;  ”  and  so  open  and  in¬ 
discreet  were  their  endearments,  that  the  old  duchess  at  length 
discovering  that  something  was  amiss,  boxed  Mrs.  Bulmer’s 
ears  for  permitting  such  improprieties,  and  chastised  both  her 
young  relation,  and  Dereham,  whom  she  drove  from  her 
presence. 

It  is  even  doubtful  whether  already,  and  not  at  a  later  date, 
though  still  prior  to  her  marriage  with  Henry,  the  duchess 
was  not  aware  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 


DISCOVERY  AND  FLIGHT. 


421 


At  length  Dereham,  who  was  a  most  re  ,’kless  adventurer, 
was  involved  in  some  transaction,  which  rendered  it  necessary 
that  he  should  leave  his  country  for  a  while,  when  he  betook 
nimself  to  Ireland,  with  which  he  had  some  unnamed  connec¬ 
tion,  and  where  he  is  said,  and  that  with  much  probability,  to 
have  been  periodically  engaged  as  a  buccaneer  or  pirate.  At 
this,  his  first  evasion,  he  left  all  his  money,  to  the  amount  of 
above  a  hundred  pounds,  in  Katharine’s  charge,  declaring  that 
if  he  came  not  back  again,  he  constituted  her  his  heiress  ;  but, 
unhappily,  he  did  return ;  the  correspondence  was  renewed, 
and  the  whole  affair  w'as  discovered.  It  cannot  be  doubted 
that  it  was,  now,  actually  known  to  many  persons,  though 
from  respect  to  her  father,  and  the  great  family  to  which  she 
belonged,  it  was  hushed  up  for  the  moment. 

Dereham  was  now  fain  to  fly  in  earnest,  lest  some  of  the 
ruined  girl’s  hot-blooded  and  infuriate  relations  should  sacrifice 
him,  as  they  surely  would  have  done,  an  offering  due  to  ven¬ 
geance  and  family  honor. 

For  a  time,  through  the  woman  Ackworth,  afterward  by 
marriage  Bulmer,  styling  herself  her  secretary,  Katharine  still 
continued  to  keep  up  a  secret  correspondence  with  the  fugitive, 
to  whom  she  had  said,  amid  tears  and  last  embraces,  as,  at 
peril  of  his  life,  he  bade  her  his  last  adieu,  these  memorable 
words — “Never  shalt  thou  live  to  say  to  me,  ‘thou  hast 
swerved.’  ” 

It  would  almost  appear,  from  this  peculiar  mention  of  Kath¬ 
arine’s  secretary,  in  connection  with  letters  of  a  nature,  which 
no  woman  would  be  likely  to  entrust  to  an  amanuensis,  and 
from  some  other  circumstances  which  occur  later  in  her  his- 
tory,  as  well  as  from  the  fact  that  there  is  no  trace,  among  the 
state  papers,  of  anything  iu  the  shape  of  a  document,  written 


422 


HER  CHANGED  DEMEANOR. 


or  signed  by  her,  that  this  high  born  lady  was  not  able  to 
write.  Yet  in  the  age  in  which  she  lived,  when  a  higher  de¬ 
gree  of  knowledge  was  common  among  refined  women,  inclu¬ 
ding  even  the  use  of  Latin  and  Greek,  than  is  often  met  at  the 
present  day,  this  would  be  a  thing  so  unaccountable  as  to  argue, 
on  the  part  of  her  guardians,  even  a  greater  degree  of  neglect 
and  want  of  supervision,  than  we  have  a  right  to  assume. 

After  Dereham’s  departure,  a  remarkable  change  came  over 
Katharine.  She  seemed  to  awake  to  a  clear  sense  of  her  crim¬ 
inality,  of  the  ruin  and  disgrace  into  which  she  had  been  be¬ 
trayed  ;  and  to  a  clear  perception  of  the  unworthiness  and  in¬ 
famy  of  those  who  had  destroyed  her.  She  was,  henceforth, 
as  remarkable  for  her  extreme  modesty,  feminine  reserve,  and 
maidenly  deportment,  as  she  had  been  before  for  willfulness 
and  wantonness,  which  seem,  however,  to  have  arisen  more 
from  the  thoughtless  levity  and  the  want  of  proper  education, 
and  the  absence  of  proper  standards,  than  from  a  perverted 
heart,  or  the  dominion  of  evil  passions. 

All  her  errors  were  committed  at  a  very  early  age ;  cer¬ 
tainly  before  she  had  attained  her  fifteenth  year  ;  and,  as  she 
advanced  toward  womanhood,  the  delicacy  and  sense  of  shame 
which  she  had  never  learned  in  her  childhood  from  a  mother’s 
holy  teaching,  seems  to  have  dawned  on  her  all  at  once,  and 
increased  immediately  to  their  full  force,  so  as  to  become,  from 
that  day  forth,  the  rule  and  motive  principle  of  her  life.  Dere¬ 
ham,  it  appears,  after  a  time,  returned  clandestinely  from  Ire¬ 
land,  and  made  some  efforts  to  regain  his  ancient  intimacy  with 
her;  but,  with  the  reserve  and  refinement  which  had  come  to 
her,  alas  !  too  late,  she  had  contracted  a  repugnance,  amount¬ 
ing  almost  to  personal  abhorrence  and  fear  of  the  man,  who 
Sad  perverted  her  innocent  ignorance  of  evil  to  such  base  uses. 


SHE  PLEASES  HENRY. 


423 


She  repelled  him  contemptuojsly ;  and  when  a  repcrt  having 
arisen  to  the  effect  that  she  was  about  to  be  married  to  her 
maternal  kinsman,  Thomas  Culpepper,  Dereham,  attributing 
her  altered  manner  to  this  circumstance,  asked  her  “  if  she  was 
going  to  be  married  to  him,  for  he  heard  it  so  reported,” 
answered  him  with  scorn  and  anger  —  “what  should  you 
trouble  me  therewith,  for  you  know  I  will  not  have  you  ; 
and  if  you  heard  such  a  report,  you  have  heard  more  than  I 
do  know.” 

It  is  alleged,  moreover,  that  he  endeavored  to  use  his  influ¬ 
ence  to  prevent  her  from  going  to  court ;  but  if  he  did  so,  in¬ 
fluence  and  authority  were  alike  wanting  to  him  ;  she  went,  in 
an  evil  hour  to  herself,  and  he  returned  to  his  wild  practices 
and  buccaneering  habits,  whatever  they  were,  in  Ireland. 

When  Henry  was  first  acquainted  with  Katharine,  when  she 
was  first  appointed  maid  of  honor  to  Anne  of  Cleves,  when 
the  sprightliness  and  beauty  of  her  manner  and  her  person  first 
attached  the  wandering  passions  of  the  king,  does  not  appear ; 
nor  can  it  be  positively  ascertained  how  old  she  was  when  she 
was  married,  though  she  could  not  have  been  older  than  her 
eighteenth  year.  Report  says  that  her  first  meeting  with  the 
arbiter  of  her  life,  if  not  of  her  fates,  for  they  were  in  some 
sort  determined  beforehand,  took  place  at  a  dinner  party  at 
Gardiner’s,  the  bishop  of  Winchester,  and  that,  even  on  that 
first  occasion,  she  had  riveted  Henry’s  fancy. 

The  gossip  soon  got  abroad,  and  we  find  it  recorded  in  pri¬ 
vate  letters  that,  “  the  king  is  going  to  part  from  his  wife,  that 
he  may  be  married  to  Mrs.  Howard,  a  very  little  girl  ” — and 
again  we  have  Marillac  writing  to  Francis,  “  Now  it  is  said  the 
king  is  going  to  marry  a  lady  of  great  beauty,  daughter  to  a 
deceased  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk.  It  is  even  said. 


424 


HER  MARRIAGE  WITH  HENRi. 


that  the  marriage  hath  already  taken  place,  and  it  s  kept 
secret.” 

It  was  now,  that  Katharine’s  dangers  began — her  old  enemy, 
Bulmer,  hearing  of  her  advancement,  wrote,  claiming  to  be 
admitted  into  her  royal  household  ;  and  intimidated,  doubtless, 
by  fear  of  disclosure,  with  that  folly  which  is  almost  akin  to 
insanity,  born  of  consciousness  and  terror,  she  consented. 

Secondly,  Francis  Dereham  reappeared  on  the  stage,  and, 
well  aware  of  what  was  in  progress,  observed  to  one  of  his 
comrades — “  I  could  be  sure  of  Mrs.  Howard  if  I  would,  but 
I  dare  not ;  the  king  begins  to  love  her,  but  were  he  dead,  I 
am  sure  I  might  marry  her.” 

Lastly,  the  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk — whose  garrulous  folly, 
continually  inquiring  of  the  domestics,  as  if  purposely  to  keep 
up  the  old  memories,  “  what  had  become  of  Francis  Dere¬ 
ham  ?  ”  and  expressing  her  opinion  “  that  belike  Katharine 
Howard  would  know  where  he  was,”  could  scarcely  fail  to  kindle 
suspicion — was  now  guilty  of  the  indescribable  folly  of  recom¬ 
mending  her  to  the  king,  as  a  person  suitable  to  the  honor 
which  he  designed  for  her.  By  all  accounts  that  remain,  all 
evidence  that  can  be  adduced,  Katharine  was  guilty  of  none  of 
that  odious  levity  and  treachery  in  supplanting  her  mistress, 
which  must  create  so  much  indignation  against  her  cousin 
Anne,  and  Jane  Seymour.  Her  conduct  was  perfectly  deco¬ 
rous  ;  she  was  not  wedded  until  after  the  divorce  of  Anne  of 
Cleves  was  pronounced  and  promulgated ;  so,  at  least,  it  is  au¬ 
thoritatively  stated,  although  no  records  of  the  solemnization 
of  this  marriage  were  ever  produced.  Shortly,  however,  after 
its  public  announcement,  Anne  of  Cleves  was  the  guest  of 
Henry  and  his  new  queen,  at  Hampton  court,  a  fact  which  is 


A  MEMORIAL. 


425 


entirely  incompatible  with  the  idea  of  her  having  wronged  her 
royal  mistress,  while  serving  as  her  maid  of  honor. 

Of  this  unhappy  queen,  little  is  known  save  the  commence¬ 
ment  and  the  end  of  her  career,  the  sin  and  the  punishment. 
Of  her  married  life,  brief  as  it  was,  there  is  scarcely  preserved 
a  memorial.  The  royal  treasures  were  nearly  exhausted,  at 
the  date  of  her  marriage,  by  the  pomps  and  pageants  so  pro¬ 
fusely  bestowed  to  conceal  the  hollowness,  which  lay  within 
the  outer  show,  that  blazoned  the  nuptials  of  the  detested, 
Flemish  bride.  The  royal  pair  lived,  during  the  first  half  year, 
almost  like  a  private  couple,  amid  the  peaceful  retirements  of 
the  country,  and  in  the  green  shades  and  grassy  parks  that  sur¬ 
round  Hampton  court  and  Windsor  castle,  the  loveliest  of 
England’s  semi-rural,  yet  all-magnificent  suburban  palaces.  The 
king  waxed  every  day  fonder  and  fonder  of  his  beautiful  young 
bride,  and  but  for  that  fatal,  retrospective  blot,  that  hidden 
blight,  cankering  unseen,  the  blush  of  her  bosom’s  purity 
and  faith,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  that  she  deserved  not 
his  love. 

The  only  memorial,  which  remains  of  this  portion  of  her 
married  life,  is  a  sweet,  a  beautiful,  a  touching  memorial.  It 
shows  a  feeling  heart,  one  unhardened  by  the  policy,  the  state  in¬ 
trigue,  the  cruelty,  of  a  cold  court-world,  one  fearless  of  miscon¬ 
struction  or  reproach,  where  charity  was  called  for,  or  sympathy 
required.  It  is  an  order  on  her  tailor — nothing  more — in  those 
times  tailors  were  not  confined  solely  to  the  ruder  and  harder 
sex — for  a  suit  of  warm,  winter  apparel,  furred  night  gowns 
and  petticoats,  worsted  kirtles  and  the  like,  for  the  venerable 
Countess  of  Salisbury,  the  last  of  the  Plantagenets,  who  lay, 
during  the  cold,  winter  weather,  in  the  damp  dungeons  of  the 
tower,  a  prisoner  under  sentence  of  death,  despoiled  of  all  her 


426 


HER  FIRST  PERIL. 


substance,  doomed  to  the  block,  on  which  she  was  scarce  to  lay 
her  head  before  it  should  be  followed  by  the  bright,  youthful 
head  of  her,  who  now  cared  so  kindly  for  her  wants,  in  the 
time  of  trouble.  During  the  following  summer,  the  royal 
pair  made  a  progress  through  the  north  country,  where  an  un¬ 
successful  rebellion  had  been  recently  suppressed,  and  where, 
eager  to  demonstrate  their  returning  loyalty,  the  whole  pop¬ 
ulation  received  them  in  extacies  of  joy  and  congratulation. 

Never  had  Katharine  seen  or  enjoyed  so  much  of  the  splen¬ 
dors  and  charms  of  royalty,  as  during  this  progress  ;  yet,  in  this 
progress,  she  committed  the  fatal  errors  that  destroyed  her.  At 
Pontefract  Dereham  intruded  himself  on  her,  and  compelled  her, 
by  his  pertinacity  and  threats,  seconded  by  the  persuasions  of  the 
old  duchess,  to  give  him  the  appointment  of  her  private  sec¬ 
retary  ;  or  as  some  say,  to  employ  him,  only,  in  the  transcrip¬ 
tion  of  two  or  three  private  letters,  in  the  absence  of  her  proper 
secretary.  At  Lincoln,  a  few  days  afterward,  she  imprudently 
granted  a  long  private  interview  to  Thomas  Culpepper,  in  her 
closet  or  privy  chamber,  no  person  being  present  except  the  lady 
Rochefort,  the  accuser  of  Anne  Boleyn,  and  witness  against 
her  own  brother,  who  was  Katharine’s  lady  of  the  bed¬ 
chamber. 

On  the  26th  of  October,  the  royal  party  returned  to  Wind¬ 
sor,  and  on  the  30th,  proceeded  to  Hampton  court,  there  to 
keep  the  feast  of  All  Souls ;  and  so  little  fear  did  Katharine 
now  entertain  from  the  past,  that  it  may  be  said,  without  ex¬ 
aggeration,  that  never  before  were  the  skies  of  her  future  so 
bright  and  full  of  promise. 

Henry  had  actually  drawn  up  a  memorandum,  and  handed 
it  to  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  whereby  he  should  frame  a  thanks¬ 
giving  to  be  offered  up  to  God  on  the  morrow,  recording  his 


CRANMER  PLOTS  IIER  RUIN. 


427 


especial  gratitude  for  the  excellent  good  wife  he  had  vouch¬ 
safed  to  him,  and  for  the  happy  times  he  was  enjoying  and 
hoped  to  enjoy  with  her. 

When  that  morrow  came,  Cranmer  handed  him  in  return,  a 
a  paper  containing  a  full  and  succinct  account  of  all  Katha¬ 
rine’s  ante-connubial  errors,  praying  the  king  to  examine  it 
at  his  leisure,  and  inform  him  of  his  pleasure  on  the  subject. 

It  was  pretended  that  the  brother  of  the  wretched  woman, 
Lascelles,  had  divulged  the  circumstances,  which  he  had  from 
his  sister — who  was  represented  as  being  stung  by  conscience — • 
to  the  Archbishop ;  that  he  disclosed  it  to  his  colleagues, 
Lord  Hertford,  and  the  lord  chancellor ;  and  that,  together, 
they  judged  it  too  grave  a  matter  to  be  concealed  from  his 
majesty. 

The  truth  is  probably  this.  By  the  divorce  of  Anne  of 
Cleves,  the  Lutheran  party,  which  had  gained  a  temporary  as- 
^  cendency,  was  cast  down,  and  the  “  men  of  the  old  learning,” 
had  regained  the  king’s  ear  by  Katharine’s  elevation,  that  lady 
being,  as  has  been  noted,  the  niece  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
and  patronized  by  Gardiner  who  were  avowedly  inclined  to 
that  party.  It  has  been  alleged  that  Henry’s  fifth  queen 
had  enlisted  herself  in  their  cause,  and  was  using  the  in¬ 
fluence  she  possessed  with  the  king,  which  was  very  great,  to 
overthrow  Cranmer  and  the  reformers.  No  proof  can  be  ad¬ 
duced  of  this  tradition.  Katharine  Howard  does  not  appear  to 
have  possessed  the  talents  implied  by  the  supposition  of  such 
a  scheme,,  if  she  had  the  will,  which  is  doubtful,  nor  was  she 
of  a  jealous  or  intriguing  disposition.  Beyond  question,  how¬ 
ever,  a  privy  council  had  been  held  at  Gorst wick’s  house— the 
owner  of  which  had,  the  preceding  spring,  openly  accused 
Cranmer  of  heresy  in  parliament — Gardiner  presiding;  at 


42S 


CHARGES  AGAINST  KATHARINE. 


which  it  was  resolved  to  take  strenuous  measures  agidnst  that 
prelate,  who  was  undeniably  in  secret  a  reformer,  to  the  full 
extent  of  the  Lutheran  creed. 

To  save  himself,  it  was  necessary  to  strike  a  blow  that  should 
be  felt  by  the  whole  of  the  Romish  and  Anglican  church-party, 
and  what  so  ready  method  of  doing  so,  as  through  the  queen  ? 
Her  secret,  known  to  so  many,  had  undoubtedly  been  whispered7 
secretly  abroad,  since  her  rise  to  such  high  station  ;  for  faults 
and  sins,  which  may  lie  hid  in  the  humble  and  the  lowly, 
“  whose  fortunes  and  the  stories  of  their  lives  are  plunged,” 
as  Sallust  has  it,  “  in  the  same  obscurity,”  are  instantly  re¬ 
vealed  and  made  clear  as  day  by  the  blaze  of  distinction, 
which  makes  public  the  virtues  alike  and  the  vices  of  the  high 
and  proud  in  birth  and  station.  To  the  great  it  is  permitted 
to  have  nothing  secret.  Katharine,  unhappy  child,  was  neither 
proud  nor  haughty — with  all  her  faults,  she  had  a  loving  na¬ 
ture,  a  humble  and  retiring  disposition  ;  but  the  curse  of  great¬ 
ness  had  fallen  upon  her,  and  wear  it  as  she  might,  she  was  to 
rue  it.  Attention  once  called  to  her  early  life,  suspicion  once 
awakened,  and  revenge  and  policy  seeking  her  destruction, 
witnesses  were  easily  obtained  without  subornation,  and  the 
whole  truth  was  revealed  ;  nor  the  truth  only,  for  doubts  were 
circulated,  as  if  she  had  persisted  in  her  licentious  courses,  and 
dishonored  the  king’s  bed. 

The  king  was,  at  first,  utterly  incredulous ;  but,  as  was  natu¬ 
ral,  for  his  own  satisfaction,  and  for  her  honor,  which  he  fully  ex 
pected  to  establish,  he  ordered  an  inquisition  of  the  most  pri¬ 
vate  character.  The  woman,  Lascelles,  was  brought  up  from 
the  country  ;  Dereham  was  arrested  on  a  charge  of  piracy. 
But  before  any  examination  was  had,  the  fact  that  Bulmer,  Ma- 
nox  Dereham,  were  all  found  in  her  household,  by  her  own 


SHE  CONFESSES. 


429 


appointment,  told  fatally  against  her.  To  this  was  added,  as 
usual,  the  folly  of  the  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  who  actually 
pointed  Dereham  out  to  a  lady,  in  the  queen’s  chamber,  with 
a  “  There,  that  is  he  that  fled  to  Ireland  for  the  queen’s  sake.” 

Lascelles  persisted  in  her  story.  Dereham  boldly  avowed 
the  truth.  He  had  been  troth-plighted  to  Katharine ;  had 
lived  with  her  as  a  man  with  his  wife ;  they  were  regarded  so 
by  the  servants ;  they  were  wont  to  call  one  another  husband 
and  wife,  before  witnesses,  and  he  had  given  her  money  when¬ 
ever  he  had  it.  lie  thought,  doubtless,  to  save  her  life  by 
this  avowal ;  as,  if  sustained,  it  would  suffice  to  procure  a  di¬ 
vorce,  and  no  one  desired  her  blood.  He  positively  denied 
any  subsequent  connection,  even  under  the  extremity  of  tor¬ 
ture,  to  which  he  was  submitted  with  the  utmost  barbarity. 

Henry’s  proud  and  savage  heart  was  almost  broken.  He 
burst  into  an  agony  of  tears  in  the  presence  of  all  his  council — 
what  torture  it  must  have  needed  to  wring  such  testimony  of 
weakness  from  his  imperious  character  and  merciless  temper ! 
He  had  really  loved  this  woman,  and  again  and  again,  even 
after  she  had  confessed  her  early  sins,  which  she  did  earnestly, 
simply — and  no  one  can  read  her  depositions  without  seeing 
that  they  were  sincere,  also — though  she  still  persevered  in 
denying  all  subsequent  wrong  or  defilement  of  the  royal  couch, 
his  heart  still  yearned  to  her,  still  relented ;  and  though  he 
could  never,  obviously,  be  reconciled  to  a  woman  so  tainted, 
or  receive  her  back  to  his  bosom,  he  would  have  spared  her 
— he  was  eager  and  earnest  to  spare  her,  and  would  have  done 
so,  could  he  have  been  separated  from  her  by  any  legal  pro¬ 
cess.  How  different  from  his  conduct  toward  Anne  Boleyn, 
whom,  without  half  the  evidence,  he  hunted  with  unrelenting 
fury  to  the  block. 


430 


HER  ATTAINDER. 


Erai  Cranmer,  it  seems,  content  with  her  fall,  would  have 
spared  her  life,  and  urged  her  to  admit  a  precontract  with 
Dereham,  which  w(  uld  have  enabled  them  to  grant  a  di¬ 
vorce.  But  whether  from  folly,  or  pride,  she  persisted. 
There  had  been  no  troth-plight — she  had  never  thought  to 
marry  him — whatever  he  had  obtained  from  her,  was  obtained 
by  violence ! 

That  sealed  her  fate  beyond  redemption.  The  king  must 
be  liberated.  He  could  be  liberated  by  her  blood  only. 
Therefore,  her  blood  must  flow. 

The  privy  council,  unable  to  find  the  least  shadow  of  evi¬ 
dence  against  her,  in  the  matter  of  Dereham,  determined  that 
she  should  be  accused  of  adultery  with  Culpepper.  All  her 
relatives,  from  the  old  duchess  downward,  were  arrested  for 
misprision  of  treason,  and,  though  no  evidence  could  be  pro¬ 
duced  against  any  one,  except  this — that  Culpepper  had  been 
in  the  queen’s  chamber,  on  one  occasion,  in  the  presence  of 
the  Lady  Rochefort,  only — they  were  all  found  guilty.  The 
queen,  the  Lady  Rochefort,  Culpepper  and  Dereham,  of  high 
treason — all  the  rest  for  misprision  of  treason,  which  was  at 
that  time  also  a  capital  offence. 

Culpepper  and  Dereham  suffered  first — the  former  be¬ 
headed,  in  deference  to  his  rank,  the  other  drawn  and  quar¬ 
tered,  with  all  the  horrors  of  the  then  existing  penalty  for 
treason.  They  both  denied,  to  the  last,  the  offence  for  which 
they  died. 

The  queen  and  Lady  Rochefort  were  both  condemned, 
unheard,  and  without  defence,  by  attainder.  It  is  stated  that 
the  queen  had  confessed,  but  it  is  evident,  throughout  the 
whole  proceedings,  that  she  confessed  nothing,  as  she  was,  in 
deed,  guilty  of  nothing,  subsequent  to  her  marriage. 


HER  DEATH. 


43] 


“  When  the  commons  entered,”  says  Miss  Strickland,  “  the 
assent  of  the  king  to  the  bill  was  given  by  commission,  and 
the  fatal  sentence,  le  Roi  le  veut ,  was  pronounced  to  the  act 
which  deprived  a  queen  of  England  of  her  life,  and  loaded 
her  memory  with  obloquy  of  so  dark  a  hue,  that  no  historian 
has  ventured  to  raise  the  veil,  even  to  enquire  how  far  the 
charges  are  based  on  fact. 

On  the  11th  of  February  the  fatal  doom  was  decreed;  on 
the  thirteenth  she  was  led  to  the  scaffold,  in  company  with 
Lady  Rochefort,  the  innocent  victim  of  the  present  plot  of 
Cranmer,  the  guilty  accomplice  of  Anne  Boleyn’s  murder. 
They  both  died  humbly,  meekly,  piously — confessing  that  for 
sundry  misdemeanors  and  grievous  offences,  they  deserved  to 
die  ;  but  both  declaring  their  innocence  of  that  for  which  they 
suffered.  There  is  no  doubt  that  they  were  innocent ;  and 
from  the  stones  of  the  tower  yard,  in  front  of  the  church  of 
St.  Peter  ad  vincula ,  their  blood  still  cries  to  heaven  for 
vengeance. 

The  rest  of  the  prisoners  received  pardon,  on  various  terms 
of  composition ;  but  the  fierceness  with  which  Henry  hence¬ 
forth  raged  against  the  blood  of  the  Howards,  the  death  of 
“Surrey  of  the  deathless  lay,”  and  the  doom  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk — prevented  only  by  the  previous  death  of  the  tyrant— 
can  be  attributed  to  no  other  cause  than  this.  Acts  so  ab¬ 
surdly  stringent,  against  any  woman,  who  should  marry  the 
king,  not  being  a  maiden,  and  against  all  her  relatives,  if 
knowing  the  fact,  they  should  fail  to  disclose  it,  now  passed 
the  parliament,  that  it  was  generally  said  in  derision,  that  if 
the  king  should  marry  again,  he  must  needs  marry  a  widow 
— a  jesting  prophecy,  which  was  realized  by  the  fact — since 
no  virgin  would  dare  to  accept  him  under  the  penalties. 


432 


PUBLIC  OPINION. 


So  great  was  the  detestation  of  his  sanguinary  conduct,  and 
such  the  disgust  in  which  he  was  now  held,  on  the  European 
continent,  that,  when  he  offered  his  hand  to  Christina,  the  dow¬ 
ager  duchess  of  Milan,  she  declined  it,  with  the  remark,  that 
“  if  she  had  two  heads,  one  would  have  been  at  the  service  of 
his  majesty  of  England.” 


KATHARINE  PARR,  OF  KENDAL. 

MARRIED,  1543;  DIED,  1548. 


She  actually  told  him,  “that  it  was  better  to  be  his  mistress 
than  his  wife.”  Lett.  Quoted  by  Miss  Stricklami. 

'Tis  better  said  than  done,  my  gracious  lord. 

1  am  a  subject,  fit  to  jest  withal, 

Bui  most  unfit  to  be  a  sovereign. 

SuAKSl'KARE.  K  iny  Henry  F7. 


KATHARINE  PARR. 

DORN,  1513;  MARRIED,  1543;  DECEASED,  1548- 


Sint  actually  told  him,  “that  it  was  better  to  be  his  mistress 
than  his  wife.  Lett 

’Tis  better  said  than  done,  my  gracious  lord. 

I  am  a  subject,  fit  to  jest  withal. 

But  most  unfit  to  be  a  sovereign. 

Suakspeaeb. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  sixth  queen  of  Henry,  and  first  Protestant  queen  of  En¬ 
gland,  was  one  of  those  fortunate  women,  who  ran  her  course 
through  die  world,  blessed  and  dispensing  blessings,  yet  in  a 
course  so  noiseless  and  serene,  that  she  has  scarce  left  a  simi 
or  a  sound  to  tell  of  her  transit.  Such  is  ever  the  case  with 
the  purest  and  holiest  lives,  as  it  is  with  the  calmest  and  most 
peaceful  epochs. 

Her  gentle  and  graceful  career,  much  of  which  was  spent  in 
the  peaceful  dales  of  W estmoreland,  and  the  green  lap  of  Ken- 
dale,  wherein  she  was  born,  was  like  that  of  those  men,  cele¬ 
brated  in  the  harmonious  words  of  Longfellow,  those  innocent 
Acadian  farmers, 

“Whose  lives  glided  on,  like  rivers  that  water  the  woodland, 

Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  yet  reflecting  the  image  of  heaven." 


43G 


HER  HANDIWORE. 


Beyond  bare  dates,  and  the  brief  statement  that  she  was  good, 
learned,  virtuous,  humble,  meek,  and  beloved,  wheresoever  she 
went,  there  is  little  to  relate  of  her — that  she  lived,  was  Hen¬ 
ry’s  wife,  and,  wonderful  to  tell,  outlived  him.  At  a  very 
early  age  she  lost  her  father,  and  also  at  a  very  early  age  she 
wedded  the  Lord  Borough,  a  north  country  nobleman,  who 
had  a  fine  mansion  at  Catterick,  and  another  at  Newark  upon 
Trent.  lie  was  a  widower,  with  children,  and  was  connected 
in  about  the  fourth  degree  to  Katharine.  He  died  in  1 528-9, 
and  left  Katharine  in  her  fifteenth  year,  a  widow,  an  heiress, 
young,  beautiful,  childless. 

For  several  years  she  remained  a  widow,  residing  for  the 
most  part  at  Sizergh  castle,  in  the  lake  country,  wherein  is  still 
shown  an  apartment  known  as  the  queen’s  chamber,  in  which 
are  preserved  specimens  of  her  handiwork,  a  bed-quilt  and 
toilet-cover  of  white  satin,  elaborately  embroidered,  in  colors 
and  on  a  material,  which,  according  to  Miss  Strickland,  far  ex¬ 
ceed  in  quality,  hue,  texture,  and  finish,  any  productions  of  the 
present  degenerate  day. 

The  lady  I  have  quoted,  is  ever  eager  to  celebrate  even  the 
smallest  details  concerning  those  whom  she  admires  and  takes 
under  her  patronage,  and  of  these  her  most  especial  favorite, 
perhaps,  because  she  was  of  the  blood  of  the  Stricklands,  is 
Katharine  Parr.  She  revels,  accordingly,  in  descriptions  of 
all  the  scenes,  halls,  castles,  bed  rooms,  withdrawing  rooms, 
banqueting  rooms,  and  all  their  furniture,  which  Katharine 
ever  saw,  or  probably,  or  even  possibly,  might  have  seen  or 
visited.  I  shall  not  follow  her  example. 

There  are,  in  fact,  but  three  or  four  things  remarkable  it 
her  life.  The  first,  that  herself  four  times  a  widow,  thrice  of 
widowers,  she  was  the  sixth  wife  of  a  king  whom  she  survived, 


HER  LEARNING. 


437 


and  then  married  the  only  man  she  had  ever  loved,  only  to 
rue  the  marriage.  That  she  was  once  on  the  point  of  perish¬ 
ing  at  the  stake  for  her  generous  advocacy  of  the  cause  of  the 
reformation,  and  that  she  escaped  that  fate  only  by  her  own  ad¬ 
dress  and  cleverness. 

Her  second  marriage  was  to  the  Lord  Latimer,  who,  du¬ 
ring  his  short  married  life,  was  engaged  in  the  first  northern 
insurrection,  received  his  pardon  in  1536,  and  would  have  en- 
gaged  in  the  second,  but  for  the  prudence  of  his  wife,  who  per¬ 
suaded  him  against  it,  and  thus  saved  his  life  and  preserved 
his  fortunes.  He  died,  leaving  Katharine  a  second  time  a 
widow,  still  under  thirty  years  of  age,  a  greater  heiress  than 
before,  still  passing  fair,  still  childless.  He  died  in  1543, 
about  a  year  after  the  death  of  the  unfortunate  Katharine 
Howard,  whom  his  widow  was  destined  to  succeed.  Shortly 
after  his  death,  the  lady,  who  had  been  always  of  a  grave  turn 
of  mind,  and  addicted  to  learning — she  wrote  a  beautiful  man¬ 
uscript,  and  was  skilled  in  composition,  both  in  Greek  and 
Latin  —  rather  than  to  lighter  accomplishments,  became  con¬ 
verted  to  the  new  doctrines,  of  which  she  continued  from  that 
day  forth  an  ardent  disciple,  and,  so  soon  as  she  had  acquired 
the  power,  an  eminent  patroness  and  protectress  of  all  who 
professed  it. 

Exactly  how  or  when  she  became  intimately  acquainted 
with  Henry,  does  not  clearly  appear ;  but  there  had  always 
existed  a  friendly  connection  between  the  families,  manifested 
by  an  interchange  of  courtesies  and  presents,  the  Parrs  claim¬ 
ing  some  blood  connection  with  royalty. 

Katharine’s  sister,  the  Lady  Herbert,  wife  of  William,  af¬ 
terward  knight  of  the  garter  and  first  earl  of  Pembroke,  of  tho 
gecond  creation,  was  much  about  his  court,  and  had  figured  as 


438 


SIR  THOMAS  SEYMOUR. 


an  important  personage  about  both  of  his  two  last  queens,  lib 
tie  dreaming  probably  that  her  own  sister  would  be  the  next. 
It  has  even  been  conjectured  that  Katharine  herself  was  re¬ 
tained  in  the  royal  household,  as  preceptress  or  guardian  to 
Henry’s  children  ;  but,  for  this  conjecture,  there  is  no  founda¬ 
tion,  beyond  the  fact,  that  after  her  marriage,  she  was  a  kind 
preceptress  to  the  youthful  princesses,  that  they  were  sincerely 
attached  to  her,  and  that  the  manuscript  of  Prince  Edward 
closely  resembles  her  own. 

At  this  period,  Sir  Thomas  Seymour,  the  brother  of  the 
late  Queen  Jane,  afterward  duke  of  Somerset,  the  gayest  and 
most  glorious  cavalier  of  the  day,  was  struck  with  the  charms 
of  the  pious  young  widow,  and  it  seems  that  to  him,  both  her 
ear  and  her  heart  she  did  seriously  incline.  But,  at  the  same 
moment,  a  greater  and  more  formidable  suitor  entered  the 
lists,  even  the  king  himself ;  and,  although  Katharine  did  not 
express  much  delight  at  the  honor,  or  meet  the  royal  suit  with 
much  encouragement,  Seymour  withdrew,  daunted  probably 
by  the  idea  of  rivalling  the  cruel  king,  and  in  the  end,  as  usual, 
the  suit  of  royalty  prevailed.  It  is  not,  indeed,  very  certain, 
how  far,  in  such  a  case,  the  privileges  of  the  sex  might  be  al¬ 
lowed  to  prevail,  and  whether  to  refuse  the  king  might  not  be 
held  even  a  graver  offence,  than  not  to  give  him  satisfaction  as 
a  wife. 

It  is  certain,  at  all  events,  that  when  the  king  first  disclosed 
to  the  lady  his  intention  of  raising  her  to  the  crown  matrimo¬ 
nial,  she  actually  showed  terror  instead  of  joy ;  and,  indeed, 
told  him  in  so  many  words,  that  it  was  better  to  be  his  “mis¬ 
tress  than  to  be  his  wife.”  Nevertheless,  she  consented,  and 
on  July  10th,  1543,  Cranmer  granted  a  dispensation,  and  on 
the  second  day  thereafter,  the  fair  widow,  throwing  off  the 


HER  MERCIES. 


439 


weeds  of  her  second  widowhood,  before  they  had  been  two 
months  worn,  was  led  to  the  altar  by  her  singular  and  formi¬ 
dable  bridegroom.  The  royal  coffers  were  still  suffering  under 
the  same  depletion,  which  had  caused  the  nuptials  of  Katha¬ 
rine  Howard  to  be  celebrated  with  so  little  splendor,  and  so 
scanty  ceremonial ;  but  if  the  wedding  ceremony  of  Katharine 
Parr  lacked  the  pomp  and  pageantry,  which  distinguished 
those  of  Katharine  of  Arragon  and  Anne  of  Cleves,  neither 
were  they  marred  by  the  indecent  haste  and  unbecoming  se¬ 
crecy,  which  disgraced  those  of  Anne  Boleyn  and  Katharine 
Howard. 

On  the  whole,  her  married  life  was  less  unhappy,  than 
might  have  been  expected.  Henry,  if  he  had  not  the  furious 
passion  for  her,  which  he  had  for  his  earlier  idols,  had  the 
fullest  confidence  in  her  judgment  and  virtue,  and  suffered 
her  to  exercise  much  influence  over  him.  To  her  honor,  be  it 
spoken,  that  influence  was  ever  exerted  for  the  good.  The 
flames  of  martyrdom  were  raging  cruelly,  the'  scaffold  was 
streaming  with  noble  and  Catholic  blood,  and  if  she  could 
neither  quench  the  one,  nor  stop  the  red  torrent  which  flowed 
from  the  other,  she  at  least  subtracted  many  victims,  and  that 
without  distinction  of  sect  or  religion,  from  both. 

In  the  characters  of  his  three  children,  most  of  what  is 
good  may  be  traced  directly  to  her  pure  and  classic  educa¬ 
tion,  her  firm  and  sensible  yet  gentle  system. 

He  showed  his  confidence  in  h?r  by  appointing  her  regent 
jf  his  realm,  with  greater  powers  than  had  ever  before  been 
given  to  a  woman,  when  he  went  for  the  last  time  to  wage 
war  in  France ;  and,  though  on  his  return,  the  wiles  of  Gar¬ 
diner,  Audley,  and  Wriothesley  had  nearly  involved  her  in 
ruin,  on  a  charge  of  heresy,  so  that  the  warrant  for  her  arrest 


440 


HER  DANGER. 


was  actually  signed,  and  the  guard  despatched  to  arrest  her,  it 
Deeded  but  a  few  words  from  her  persuasive  lips,  ere  the  dan¬ 
ger  was  overpassed.  They  were  again  “  sweethearts  and  fast 
friends,”  and  when  the  chancellor  came  with  his  beef-eaters  to 
take  her  into  custody,  he  got  nothing  for  his  pains  but  hard 
words —  “  beast !  ”  “  knave !  ”  and  “  fool !  ”  were  the  mildest 
terms,  which  he  vouchsafed  to  the  most  trusty  and  subservient 
ministers  of  his  pleasures,  when  they  chanced  to  offend  him, 
and  when  Katharine  would,  on  this  occasion,  have  interceded 
for  her  enemy,  “  Ah  !  poor  soul !  ”  said  this  most  inconsistent 
of  mortal  kings  or  men,  “  thou  little  knowest,  Kate,  how  little 
he  deserveth  this  grace  at  thy  hands.  On  my  word !  sweet¬ 
heart,  he  hath  been  to  thee  a  very  knave.” 

Shortly  afterward,  Henry  himself  departed  from  this  life, 
giving  up  that  crown  which  he  had  received  amid  the  univer¬ 
sal  joy  of  his  subjects,  in  the  midst  of  satisfaction  and  joy 
greater,  if  less  noisy,  than  that  which  had  hailed  his  coronation. 

By  his  death,  he  liberated  many  prisoners,  the  conqueror  of 
Flodden  among  the  rest,  from  the  dungeon  and  the  death 
doom ;  he  liberated  his  kingdom  from  the  terror,  under  which 
it  had  groaned  and  shuddered,  during  the  last  twenty  years  ; 
and  his  last  fair  wife,  happier  to  be  his  widow  than  his  wife, 
from  chains,  which,  if  gilded,  were,  nevertheless,  chains,  and 
that  neither  the  lightest  nor  the  least  irksome. 

He,  indeed,  above  all  other  men  who  ever  lived, 

“Left  a  name  at  which  the  world  grew  pale, 

To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale,” 

while  she,  his  last  wife,  deserved  in  very  deed  the  eulogium 
which  was  improperly  bestowed  upon  another  who  deserved 
it  not. 


THE  QUEENS  COMPARED. 


441 


Katharine  Parr  it  is,  who,  indeed,  was  “  the  fairest,  discreet- 
est,  and  most  meritorious  of  all  the  six  wives”  of  the  worst 
husband,  if  not  the  wickedest  man,  who  ever  abused  great 
talents,  great  powers,  great  position,  and  disgraced  the  crown 
of  which  she,  his  last  consort,  was,  perhaps,  the  brightest  or¬ 
nament. 

Except  Katharine  of  Arragon,  none  other  of  his  wives  could 
compare,  for  a  moment,  with  Katharine  Parr,  who,  in  addition 
to  domestic  virtues  never  surpassed,  greatness  meekly  and 
mercifully  borne,  and  high  talents  not  wasted,  but  so  used  as 
to  bring  forth  an  hundred  fold,  united  this  high  claim  to  the 
regard  of  posterity — 

The  last  wife  of  Henry  VIII.  was  the  first  Protestant  queen 
of  England,  and  she  was  an  English  woman  born ;  even  as 
persecuting  Mary,  the  first-born  daughter  of  that  persecuting 
monarch,  was  its  last  Papist  queen,  and  God  grunt  she  may  be 
the  last  forever. 


TIIR  END. 


Standard  and  Popular  Books 


PUBLISHED  BY 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


*  Waverley. 

*Guy  Mannering. 

The  Antiquary. 

Rob  Roy. 

Black  Dwarf  ;  and  Old  Mortality. 
The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian. 

The  Bride  of  Lamraermoor;  and  A 
Legend  of  Montrose. 

*Ivanhoe. 

The  Monastery. 

The  Abbott. 

Kenilworth. 

The  Pirate. 


The  Fortunes  of  Nigel. 

Peveril  of  the  Peak. 

Quentin  Dunvard. 

St.  Ronan’s  Well. 

Redgauntlet. 

The  Betrothed ;  and  The  Talisman. 
Woodstock. 

The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

Anne  of  Geierstein. 

Count  Robert  of  Paris;  and  Castle 
Dangerous. 

Chronicles  of  the  Canongate. 


Household  Edition.  23vols.  Illustrated.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra, 
black  and  gold,  per  vol.,  $1.00;  sheep,  marbled  edges,  por  vol., 
$1.50;  half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  vol.,  $3.00.  Sold  sepa¬ 
rately  in  cloth  binding  only. 

Universe  Edition.  25  vols.  Printed  on  thin  paper,  and  con¬ 
taining  one  illustration  to  the  volume.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black 
and  gold,  per  vol.,  75  cts. 

World  Edition.  12  vols.  Thick  12mo.  (Sold  in  sets  only.) 
Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $18.00 ;  half  imt.  Russia,  marbled 
edges,  $24.00. 


This  is  the  best  edition  for  the  library  or  for  general  nse  published.  Its 
convenient  size,  the  extreme  legibility  of  the  type,  which  is  larger  than 
is  used  in  any  other  12mo  edition,  either  English  or  American. 


TALES  OF  A  GRANDFATHER.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart. 
4  vols.  Uniform  with  the  Waverley  Novels. 

Household  Edition.  Illustrated.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black 
and  gold,  per  vol.,  $1.00;  sheep,  marbled  edges,  per  vol.,  $1.50; 
half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  vol.,  $3.00. 

This  edition  contains  the  Fourth  Series — Tales  from  French  history — and 
la  the  only  complete  edition  published  iu  this  country. 

(I) 


2 


PORTER  &  COATES’  PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES  DICKENS’  COMPLETE  WORKS.  Author’s  Edition. 
14  vols.,  with  a  portrait  of  the  author  on  steel,  and  eight 
illustrations  by  F.  O.  C.  Darlev,  Cruikshank,  Fildes,  Eytinge, 
and  others,  in  each  volume.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  aud 
gold,  per  vol.,  $1.00;  sheep,  marbled  edges,  per  vol.,  $1.50;  half 
imt.  Russia,  marbled  edges,  per  vol.,  $1.50:  half  calf,  gilt, 
marbled  edges,  per  vol.,  $2.75. 


♦Pickwick  Papers. 

•Oliver  Twist,  Pictures  of  Italy,  and 
American  Notes. 

♦Nicholas  Nickleby. 

Old  Curiosity  Shop,  and  Reprinted 
Pieces. 

Barnaby  Radge,  and  Hard  Times. 
♦Martin  Chuzzlewit. 

Domboy  and  Son. 

♦David  Coppcrfield. 


Christmas  Books,  Uncommercial 
Traveller,  and  Additional 
Christmas  Stories. 

Bleak  House. 

Lillie  Doriit. 

Tale  of  Two  Cities,  and  Great  Ex¬ 
pectations. 

Our  Mutual  Friend. 

Edwiu  Drood,  Sketches,  Master 
Humphrey’s  Clock,  etc.,  etc. 


Sold  separately  in  cloth  binding  only. 

♦Also  in  Alta  Edition,  one  illustration,  75  cents. 

The  same.  Universe  Edition.  Printed  on  thin  paper  and  con¬ 
taining  oue  illustration  to  the  volume.  14  vols.,  12mo.  Cloth, 
extra,  black  aud  gold,  per  vol.,  75  cents. 

The  same.  World  Edition.  7  vols.,  thick  12mo.,  $12.25.  (Sold 
in  sets  only.) 

CHILD’S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  By  Charles  Dickens 
Popular  12mo.  edition;  from  new  electrotype  plates.  Larg« 
clear  type.  Beautifully  illustrated  with  8  engravings  on  wood. 
12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  $1.00. 

Alta  Edition.  Oue  illustration,  75  cents. 

“  Dickens  as  a  novelist  and  prose  poet  is  to  be  classed  in  the  front  rank  of 
tlie  noble  company  to  which  he  belongs.  He  lias  revived  the  novel  of  genu¬ 
ine  practical  life,  as  it  existed  in  the.  works  of  Fielding,  Smollett,  and  Gold¬ 
smith;  but  at  the  same  time  has  given  to  his  material  an  individual  coloring 
and  expression  peculiarly  his  own.  His  characters,  like  those  of  his  greait 
exemplars,  constitute  a  world  of  their  own,  whose  truth  to  nature  every 
reader  instinctively  recognizes  in  connection  with  their  truth  to  daikness. 
— E.  P.  Whipple. 

MACAULAY’S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  From  the  accession 
of  James  II.  Bv  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay.  With  a 
steel  portrait  of  the  author.  Printed  from  new  electrotype 
plates  from  the  last  English  Edition.  Being  by  far  the  most 
correct  edition  in  the  American  market.  5  volumes,  12mo 
Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  per  set,  $5.00;  sheep,  marbled 
edges,  per  sot,  $7.50;  half  imitation  Russia,  $7.50;  half  calf, 
gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  set,  $15.00. 

Popular  Edition.  5  vols.,  cloth,  plain,  $5.00. 

8vo.  Edition.  5  volumes  in  one,  with  portrait.  Cloth,  extra, 
black  and  gold,  $3.00;  sheep,  marbled  edges,  $3.50. 

MARTINEAU’S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  From  the  beginning 
of  the  19th  Century  to  the  Crimean  War.  By  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau.  Complete  in  4  vols.,  with  full  Index.  Cloth,  extra, 
black  and  gold,  per  set,  $1.00 ;  sheep,  marbled  edges,  $0.00,  half 
calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  $12.00. 


PORTER  &  COATES’  PUBLICATIONS. 


3 


HUME’S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  From  tlie  invasion  of 
Julius  Csesar  to  the  abdication  of  James  II,  1588.  By  David 
Hume.  Standard  Edition.  With  the  author’s  last  correcti  ms 
and  improvements;  to  which  is  prefixed  a  short  account  of 
his  life,  written  by  himself.  With  a  portrait  on  steel.  A  new 
edition  from  entirely  new  stereotype  plates.  5  vols.,  12mo. 
Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  per  set,  $5.00;  sheep,  marbled 
edges,  per  set,  $7.50;  half  imitation  Russia,  $7.50;  half  calf, 
gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  set,  $15.00. 

Popular  Edition.  5  vols.  Cloth,  plain,  $5.00. 

GIBBON’S  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  ROMAN  EMPIRE. 
By  Edward  Gibbon.  With  Notes,  by  Rev.  II.  H.  Mii.man. 
Standard  Edition.  To  which  is  added  a  complete  Index  of 
the  work.  A  new  edition  from  entirely  new  stereotype  plates. 
With  portrait  on  steel.  5  vols.,  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and 
gold,  per  set,  $5.00;  sheep,  marbled  edges,  per  set,  $7.50;  half 
imitation  Russia,  $7.50;  half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  set, 
$15.00. 

Popular  Edition.  5  vols.  Cloth,  plain,  $5.00. 

ENGLAND,  PICTURESQUE  AND  DESCRIPTIVE.  By  Joel 
Cook,  author  of  “  A  Holiday  Tour  in  Europe,”  etc.  With  487 
finely  engraved  illustrations,  descriptive  of  the  most  famous 
and  attractive  places,  as  well  as  of  the  historic  scenes  and 
rural  life  of  England  and  Wales.  With  Mr.  Cook’s  admirable 
descriptions  of  the  places  and  the  country,  and  the  spleud  id  il¬ 
lustrations,  this  is  the  most  valuable  and  attractive  book  of  the 
season,  and  the  sale  will  doubtless  be  very  large.  4to.  Cloth, 
extra,  gilt  side  and  edges,  $7.50;  half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges, 
$10.00;  half  morocco,  full  gilt  edges,  $10.00 ;  full  Turkey  mo¬ 
rocco,  gilt  edges,  $15.00;  tree  calf,  gilt  edges,  $18.00. 

This  work,  which  is  prepared  in  elegant  style,  and  profusely  illustrated, 
is  a  comprehensive  description  of  England  and  Wales,  arranged  in  conve¬ 
nient  form  for  the  tourist.,  and  at  the  sauio  time  providing  an  illustrated 
guide-book  to  a  country  which  Americans  always  view  with  interest.  There 
are  few  satisfactory  works  about  this  land  which  is  so  generously  gifti  d  by 
Nature  and  so  full  of  memorials  of  tha  past.  Such  hooks  as  there  are,  either 
cover  a  few  counties  or  are  devoted  to  special  localities,  or  are  merely  guide¬ 
books.  The  present  work  is  believed  to  bathe  first  attempt  to  give  in  attrac¬ 
tive  form  a  description  of  the  stately  homes,  renowned  castles,  ivy-clad  ruins 
of  abbeys,  churches,  and  ancient  fortresses,  delicious  scenery,  rock-hound 
coasts,  aod  celebrated  places  of  England  and  Wales.  It  is  written  by  an 
author  fully  competent  from  travel  and  reading,  and  in  position  to  properly 
describe  his  very  interesting  subject;  and  tho  artist’s  pencil  has  been  call  d 
Into  requisition  to  graphically  illustrate  its  well-written  pages.  There  are 
187  illustrations,  prepared  in  the  highest  style  of  the  engraver’s  art,  while 
the  book  itself  is  ono  of  tho  most  attractive  ever  presented  to  tho  American 
public. 

Its  method  of  construction  is  systematic,  following  the  most  convenient 
routes  taken  by  tourists,  and  the  letter-press  includes  enough  of  tin-  history 
and  legend  of  each  of  tho  places  described  to  make  the  story  highlv  inter¬ 
esting.  Its  pages  fairly  overflow  with  picture  and  description,  telling  i.f 
everything  attractive  that  is  presented  by  England  and  Wales.  Exeunt  d 
in  the  highest  style  of  the  printer's  and  engraver's  art,  “  England,  Pictur¬ 
esque  and  Descriptive, ’•  is  ono  of  the  best  American  books  of  the  year. 


4 


PORTER.  &  COATES  PUBLICATIONS. 


HISTORY  OF  THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  AMERICA.  By  the  Comtb 
He  Paris.  With  Maps  faithfully  Engraved  from  the  Origin¬ 
als,  and  Printed  in  Three  Colors.  8vo.  Cloth,  per  volume, 
1  $3.50;  red  cloth,  extra,  Roxburgh  style,  uncut  edges,  $3.50; 

sheep,  library  style,  $4.50;  half  Turkey  morocco,  $6.00.  Vols. 
I,  II,  and  III  now  ready. 

The  third  volume  embraces,  without  abridgment,  the  fifth  and  sixth 
volumes  of  the  French  edition,  and  covers  one  of  the  most  interesting  av 
well  as  tlie  most  anxious  periods  of  the  war,  describing  the  operations  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  in  the  East,  and  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  and 
Tennessee  in  the  West. 

It  contains  full  accounts  of  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville,  the  attack  of  the 
monitors  on  Fort  Sumter,  the  sieges  and  fall  of  Vicksburg  and  Port  Hudson ; 
the  battles  of  Port  Gibsou  aud  Champion's  Hill,  and  the  fullest  and  most 
authentic  account  of  the  battle  of  Gettysburg  ever  written. 

“The  head  of  the  Orleans  family  has  put  pen  to  paper  with  excellent 

result . Our  present  impression  is  that  it  will  form  by  far  the  best 

history  of  the  American  war.” — Athenaeum,  London. 

“We  advise  all  Americans  to  read  it  carefully,  and  judge  for  themselves 
if  ‘the  future  historian  of  our  war,’  of  whom  we  have  heard  so  much,  be  not 
already  arrived  in  the  Comte  de  Paris.” — Nation,  New  York. 

“This  is  incomparably  the  best  account  of  our  great  second  revolution 
that  has  yet  been  even  attempted.  It  is  so  calm,  so  dispassionate,  so  accurate 
in  detail,  and  at  the  same  time  so  philosophical  in  general,  that  its  reader 
counts  confidently  on  finding  the  complete  work  thoroughly  satisfactory.” — 
Evening  Bulletin,  Philadelphia. 

“The  work  expresses  the  calm,  deliberate  judgment  of  an  experienced 
military  observer  and  a  highly  intelligent  man.  Many  of  its  statements 
will  excite  discussion,  but  we  much  mistake  if  it  does  not  take  high  and 
permanent  rank  among  the  standard  histories  of  the  civil  war.  Indeed 
that  place  has  been  assigned  it  by  the  most  competent  critics  both  of  this 
country  and  abroad.” — Times,  Cincinnati. 

“Messrs.  Porter  &  Coates,  of  Philadelphia,  wiil  publish  iu  a  few  days  the 
authorized  translation  of  the  new  volume  of  theComtede  Paris’  History  of 
Our  Civil  War.  The  two  volumes  in  French — the  fifth  aud  sixth — are  hound 
together  in  the  translation  in  one  volume.  Our  readers  already  know, 
through  a  table  of  contents  of  these  volumes,  published  in  the  cable  columns 
of  the  Herald,  the  period  covered  by  this  new  installment  of  a  work  remark¬ 
able  in  several  ways.  It  includes  the  most  important  and  decisive  period  of 
the  war,  and  the  t  wo  great  campaigns  of  Gettysburg  aud  Vicksburg. 

“The  great  civil  war  has  had  no  better,  no  abler  historian  than  the  French 
prince  who,  emulating  the  example  of  Lafayette,  took  part  in  this  new 
struggle  for  freedom,  and  who  now  writes  of  events,  in  mauy  of  which  he 
participated,  as  an  accomplished  officer,  and  one  who,  by  his  independent 
position,  his  high  character  and  eminent  talents,  was  placed  iu  circum¬ 
stances  and  relations  which  gave  him  almost  unequalled  opportunities  to 
gain  correct  information  and  form  impartial  judgments. 

“The  new  installment  of  a  work  which  has  already  become  a  classic  will 
be  read  with  increased  interest  by  Americans  because  of  the  importance  of 
the  period  it  covers  and  the  stirring  events  it  describes.  In  advance  of  a 
careful  review  we  present  to-day  some  extracts  from  the  advance  sheets  sent 
us  by  Messrs.  Porter  &  Coates,  which  will  give  our  readers  a  foretaste  of 
chapters  which  bring  back  to  memory  so  many  half-forgotten  and  not  a  few 
hitherto  unvalued  details  of  a  time  which  Americans  of  this  generatiou  a* 
least  cannot  read  of  without  a  fresh  thrill  of  excitement." 


PORTER  &  COATES  PUBLICATIONS. 


5 


HALF-HOURS  WITH  THE  BEST  AUTHORS.  With  short  Bi- 
ographical  anil  Critical  Notes.  By  Charles  Knight. 

New  Household  Edition.  With  six  portraits  on  steel.  3  vols., 
thick  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  per  set,  $1.50 ;  half  imt 
Russia,  marbled  edges,  $6.00;  half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  $12.00. 

Library  Edition.  Printed  on  line  laid  and  tinted  paper.  With, 
twenty-four  portraits  on  steel.  0  vols.,  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  per 
set,  $7.50;  half  calf,  gilt,  marbled  edges,  per  set,  $13.00;  half  Rus¬ 
sia,  gilt  top,  $21.00;  full  French  morocco,  limp,  per  set,  $12.00; 
full  smooth  Russia,  limp,  round  corners,  in  Russia  case,  per  set, 
$25  .00;  full  seal  grained  Russia,  limp,  round  corners,  in  Russia 
case  to  match,  $25.00. 

The  excellent,  idea  of  Ihe  editor  of  these  choice  volumes  has  been  most 
admirably  carried  out,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  list  of  authors  upon  all  sub¬ 
jects.  8  'looting  some  choice  passages  of  the  best  standard  authors,  each  of. suffi¬ 
cient  length  to  occupy  half  an  hour  in  its  perusal,  there  is  here  food  for 
thought  for  every  day  in  the  year:  so  that  if  the  purchaser  will  devote  but 
one-half  hour  each  day  to  its  appropriate  selection  lie  will  read  through 
these  six  volumes  in  one  year,  and  in  such  a  leisurely  manner  that  the 
noblest  thoughts  of  many  of  the  greatest  minds  will  he  firmly  in  his  minil 
forever.  For  every  Sunday  there  is  a  suitable  selectiou  from  some  of  the 
most  eminent  writers  iu  sacred  literature.  We  venture  to  say  if  the  editor’s 
idea  is  carried  out  the  reader  will  possess  more  and  better  knowledge  of  the 
English  classics  at  the  end  of  the  year  than  he  would  by  five  years  of  desul¬ 
tory  reading. 

They  can  be  commenced  at  any  day  in  the  year.  The  variety  of  reading 
is  so  great  that  no  one  will  ever  tire  of  these  volumes.  It  is  a  library  in 
itself. 

THE  POETRY  OF  OTHER  LANDS.  A  Collection  of  Transla¬ 
tions  into  English  Verse  of  the  Poetry  of  Other  Languages, 
Ancient  and  Modern.  Compiled  by  N.  Clemmons  Hunt. 
Containing  translations  from  the  Greek,  Latin,  Persian,  Ara¬ 
bian,  Japanese,  Turkish,  Servian,  Russian,  Bohemian,  Polish, 
Dutch,  German,  Italian,  French,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese 
languages.  12mo.  Cloth,  extra,  gilt  edges,  $2.50;  half  calf,  gilt, 
marbled  edges,  $1.00;  Turkey  morocco,  gilt  edges,  $0.00. 

“  Another  of  the  publications  of  Porter  A  Coates,  called  ‘The  Poetry  of 
Other  Lands,’  compiled  by  N.  Clemmons  Hunt,  we  most  warmly  commend. 
It  is  one  of  the  best  collections  we  have  seen,  containing  many  exquisite 
poems  and  fragments  of  versa  which  have  not  before  been  put  into  book 
form  in  English  words.  We  find  many  of  the  old  favorites,  which  appear 
in  every  well-selected  collection  of  sonnets  and  songs,  and  we  miss  others, 
which  seem  a  necessity  to  complete  the  bouquet  of  grasses  and  flowers, 
some  of  which,  from  time  to  time,  we  hope  to  republish  iu  the  ‘  Courier. 
Cincinnati  Courier. 

“A  book  of  rare  excellence,  because  it  gives  a  collection  of  choice  gen- 
many  languages  not  available  to  the  general  lover  of  poetry,  rt 
translations  from  the  Greek,  Latin,  Persian,  Arabian,  J .in" 

Servian,  Russian,  Bohemian,  Polish,  Dutch,  Genoa’ 

Spanish,  and  Portuguese  languages.  The  book  wiP 
panion  volume  to  any  one  of  the  collections  of  F- 
published.  With  the  full  index  of  authors  in 
lection,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  poems  un 
find  it  convenient  for  reference.  It  is  a  g!f 
very  many  than  some  of  the  transitory 
Philadelphia  Methodist. 


c 


PORTER  &  COATES  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  FIRESIDE  ENCYCLOPAEDIA  OF  POETRY.  Edited  by 
Henry  T.  Coates.  This  is  the  latest,  and  beyond  doubt  the 
best  collection  of  poetry  published.  Printed  on  fine  paper  and 
illustrated  with  thirteen  steel  engravings  and  fifteen  title 
pages,  containing  portraits  of  prominent  American  poets  and 
fac-similesof  their  handwriting,  made  expressly  for  this  book. 
8vo.  Cloth,  extra,  black  and  gold,  gilt  edges,  $5.00;  half  calf, 
gilt,  marbled  edges,  $7.50;  half  morocco,  full  gilt  edges,  $7.50; 
full  Turkey  morocco,  gilt  edges,  $10.00 ;  tree  calf,  gilt  edges, 
$12.00 ;  plush,  padded  side,  nickel  lettering,  $14.00. 

“The  editor  shows  a  wide  acquaintance  with  the  most  precious  treasures 
of  Euglisli  verse,  and  has  gathered  the  most  admirable  specimens  of  their 
ample  wealth.  Many  pieces  which  have  been  passed  by  in  previous  collec¬ 
tions  hold  a  place  of  honor  in  the  present  volume,  and  will  be  heartily  wel¬ 
comed  by  the  lovers  of  poetry  as  a  delightful  addition  to  their  sources  of 
enjoyment.  It  is  a  volume  rich  in  solace,  in  entertainment,  in  inspiration, 
of  which  the  possession  may  well  be  coveted  by  every  lover  of  poetry.  The 
po-torial  illustrations  of  the  work  are  in  keeping  with  its  poetical  contents, 
£  1  the  beauty  of  the  typographical  execution  entities  it  to  a  place  among 

e  choicest  ornaments  of  the  library.” — New  Yorh  Tribune. 

“Lovers  of  good  poetry  will  find  this  one  of  the  richest  collections  ever 
nade.  All  the  best  singers  in  our  language  are  represented,  and  the  selec¬ 
tions  are  generally  those  which  reveal  their  highest  qualities . The 

lights  and  shades,  the  finer  play  of  thought  and  imagination  belonging  to 
individual  authors,  are  brought  out  in  this  way  (by  the  arrangement  of 
poems  under  subject-headings)  as  they  would  not  he  under  any  other  sys¬ 
tem . We  are  deeply  impressed  with  the  keen  appreciation  of  poetical 

worth,  and  also  with  the  good  taste  manifested  by  the  compiler.” — Church- 
men. 

“Ovelopxdiasof  poetry  are  numerous,  hut  for  sterling  value  of  its  contents 
for  the  library,  or  as  a  book  of  reference,  no  work  of  the  kind  will  compare 
with  this  admirable  volume  of  Mr.  Coates  It  takes  the  gems  from  many 
volumes,  culliug  with  rare  skill  and  judgment.” — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

THE  CHILDREN’S  BOOK  OF  POETRY.  Compiled  by  Henry 
T.  Coates.  Containing  over  500  poems  carefully  selected 
from  the  works  of  the  best  and  most  popular  writers  for  chil¬ 
dren  ;  with  nearly  200  illustrations.  The  most  complete  col¬ 
lection  of  poetry  for  children  ever  published.  4to.  Cloth, 
extra,  black  and  gold,  gilt  side  and  edges,  $3.00;  full  Turkey 
morocco,  gilt  edges,  $7.50. 

“This  seems  to  ns  the  best  book  of  poetry  for  children  In  existence.  4Vo 
have  examined  many  other  collections,  hut  we  cannot  name  another  that 
deserves  to  be  compared  with  this  admirable  compilation.” — Worcester  Spy. 

“The  special  value  of  the  book  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  nearly  or  quite 
covers  the  entire  field.  There  is  not.  a  great  deal  of  good  poetry  which  has 
been  written  for  children  that  cannot  be  found  in  this  hook.  The  collection 
"rtieularly  strong  in  ballads  and  tales,  which  arc  apt  to  interest  children 
~u  poems  of  other  kinds;  and  Mr.  Coates  has  shown  good  judgment 
'•* <r  this  department  with  some  of  the  best  i>oems  of  that  class 
‘°n  for  grown  people.  A  surer  method  of  forming  the 
>d  and  pure  literature  than  by  reading  to  them  from 
'■n  hardly  be  imagined.  The  volume  is  richly 
und.” — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

'ZVnot  be  found.  We  have  found  within  the 
~  6"d  upon  its  fair  pages,  many  of  the  most 
j  contains.  It  must  become  a  standard 
obsolete.” — Episcopal  Recorder. 


US  3-  / 

vm  -m 


<f — *  ^1 


-3  '•C 


-3^  t 

^■*sr 


'S'U 


^  ^  ■*-  h  LHum- 

^  ^  ^  AjLhTi^, 

H  ( o  twU. 

aJL 


?  c> 


